


The Very Last Place One Expects to Run into One’s History Professor

by RileyWilliamsJr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Canon-Compliant, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Identity Reveal, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), Suspicious and Deeply Confused Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 67,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyWilliamsJr/pseuds/RileyWilliamsJr
Summary: Group projects are the worst: everyone knows that. Harry had been focusing on keeping his friendship with Ron and Hermione intact during their History of Magic project, but in actual fact, that didn’t turn out to be the problem. No—because something always has to go wrong in Harry’s life, they have instead encountered a mishap with the Time-Turner Hermione was apparently using to take even more classes than usual, so instead of squabbling in a nice little Welsh bookshop, they are now squabbling in a remote forest, surrounded by medieval knights who keep brandishing swords and shouting in a foreign language. But that somehow isn’t the weirdest part: because standing amongst the knights, unarmed and wearing ragged clothing, is (for some godforsaken reason) Hogwarts’ new history teacher.[Updated Mondays and Fridays]
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 1371
Kudos: 1804





	1. Group projects are the worst

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [你死也想不到能在这种地方撞见魔法史教授](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28716108) by [NyarlaHHHH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyarlaHHHH/pseuds/NyarlaHHHH)



> Hello, dear readers! I hope you’re all up for a new story after the two-month break we’ve had since April, when the forty-three-chapter story came to a close. This one is shaping up to be more medium-length, possibly twenty or so chapters. It is entirely separate from my previous two stories, but they are all in the same crossover, so if you have not already, I invite you to take a look at “A Brief Re-emergence from the Shadows” and/or The Immortal and the Revenant to tide you over between chapters. Circumstances are slightly different this time, so for this story, the plan is to update once a week for the foreseeable future unless I am able to speed things up towards the end.
> 
> I look forward to seeing if any of my longstanding readers will pop in to say hi again, and hopefully there might be some new faces this time around, too! Now, I leave you to your reading. Enjoy!

The strangest week of Harry’s life (and, not incidentally, the longest) began on an ordinary December Wednesday, quickly surpassing even the time a half-giant brandishing a pink umbrella showed up on the Dursleys’ doorstep to give him a squished birthday cake and tell him he was a wizard.

The Wednesday in question began with his two new favourite classes: Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Lupin and History of Magic with Professor Ambrose—both of which had, historically, been two of the worst classes at Hogwarts, as the first had been taught by one insane professor after another, while the other had a single professor that they all desperately wished would be replaced, particularly since he was literally dead, which one would think might disqualify him from the job.

So, it had been a bit of a surprise when History of Magic started to become one of Harry, Ron and Hermione’s favourite classes, thanks in large part to their new professor. He was practically the exact opposite of Professor Binns (who had “retired” in order to haunt the environs of the Divination classroom, which seemed to please Professor Trelawney immensely). Martin Ambrose was distinctly sprightly in both character and appearance, at once mischievous and kind-hearted, if a bit odd—and eccentric to the point of being almost worrisome. He was also young and unexpectedly clever, which unfortunately meant that Hermione had quickly begun harbouring a minor but entirely unsubtle crush on him. But, since he was nowhere near as much of a git as Lockhart had been, Harry and Ron politely pretended not to notice.

Between Ambrose and Lupin, it was beginning to look at though their string of bad luck when it came to teachers might finally be ending—although none of them was willing to say as much out loud for fear of jinxing it.

But all that’s beside the point. Despite Harry’s vague but persistent suspicion that Professor Ambrose was hiding something, he also couldn’t help but like the man—and he was beginning to be convinced, by Ron’s and Hermione’s insistence, that he was just being paranoid. So, for once, Harry actually began to make an effort in the class: and that’s where all this nonsense started. Because as unconventional as Professor Ambrose’s lessons tended to be, his homework assignments were sometimes stranger.

“Anything?” said Hermione incredulously—and eagerly. “We can research whatever we want?”

Professor Ambrose arched one suspicious eyebrow at her. Harry and Ron studiously avoided his gaze (though Hermione kept making fun of them for being intimidated by an eyebrow).

“As long as you can defend your choice well in your paper,” the professor answered slowly, then turned back to the blackboard to finish writing out the assignment, smearing chalk on his sleeve in the process.

It hadn’t escaped Harry’s notice that the professor did everything by hand; they had never once seen him do magic, and if they hadn’t watched his wand fall out of his pocket and roll away on several separate occasions, the trio might have believed he was a squib. (Ron still sort of did.)

“AH!” Professor Ambrose exclaimed suddenly, making several people jump. “I’m glad you reminded me. There is, in fact, one prohibited topic. Please do not force me to read yet another research paper on Merlin.”

Hermione looked aghast. She had mentioned an interest in studying the life and feats of Merlin when the prospect of a research project was first brought up a few weeks ago, but knowing her, she had almost certainly already begun extensive research in the library. Oh, who was Harry kidding, she probably had the paper half-done already without even consulting her group partners. (Because of course, as soon as they had heard the phrase “groups of three to five,” Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a glance, exchanged a nod, and the group was formed.)

But she wasn’t the only one who wanted to do her paper on Merlin.

“Why not?” a Slytherin girl cried. “He’s the greatest wizard who ever lived!”

Ambrose cringed slightly, and Harry wondered if the professor knew of some better candidate for that title.

Great, now he was even being sarcastic in his own head.

“The subject has been exhausted,” said Professor Ambrose. “I’m convinced that all possible theories have been posited and debunked and then been written about at length anyway, and besides, no one actually knows much of anything, so it’s basically all speculation. So, I repeat: absolutely no Merlin.”

“That’s discrimination against Slytherin,” Malfoy sneered.

“Again with the Slytherin thing?” Professor Ambrose sighed. “Merlin would have been over four hundred years old when Hogwarts was built, so you can be fairly certain he never even went here, much less got Sorted into one house or another.”

Immediate outrage from the other side of the room.

“How do you know?”

“That’s not fair!”

“My father said—"

“See?” someone called over the commotion. “This is why you should let us research Merlin.”

Professor Ambrose grinned at the last student, but shook his head. He raised a hand for silence—which, as always, fell immediately.

“All right,” he said, “I’ll compromise. As long as no one writes their paper about Merlin, I’ll teach one whole class on the topic later on in the semester. Agreed?” He levelled the eyebrow at them again.

Vigorous nods.

“Good.”

“Well—” said Hermione, her hand shooting upward again, “what about Camelot? Could we do our project on that? Or on the Druids?”

He hummed. “Those are both fine, I suppose. Just… leave Merlin out of it, please.”

So it was decided. During dinner, Hermione suggested (firmly) that they do their project on Camelot, and that was that. She was apparently convinced that Merlin—and by extension, Camelot in general—held untold treasures of knowledge as yet undiscovered. Harry privately doubted that was possible, given the wizarding world’s obsession with him, but he agreed to do it; as he was still adjusting to the idea that Merlin and King Arthur had really existed, the topic seemed interesting enough. Ron went along with it mostly because it was easy, as he had grown up with bedtime stories about Camelot.

“Could you tell us one?” Hermione pressed him when he told them as much.

Ron was momentarily startled at having abruptly become the centre of her considerable academic attention, but eventually he began, “Well… I suppose—I mean, there was the one about what happened to the city after it fell. No one really knows, of course, but the story I heard as a kid was that someone—probably Merlin, depending on who’s telling it—someone hid it so that no one could ever find it.”

He looked between Harry and Hermione, and seeing that he still had their attention, carried on with renewed confidence. “Well, based on all that research Professor Ambrose was talking about, they’re pretty sure Camelot was located in north-eastern Wales, but they’ve never been able to find any ruins in that area. So, the story goes that Camelot fell not too long after King Arthur was killed by Mordred, and eventually everyone sort of drifted away, I guess. Some people say Merlin had already died by this point, but others think he was able to live longer than most people because he was so powerful. If that’s true, he cast such powerful Disillusionment Charms and other protective wards around the city that no one since then has been able to get past them.” Ron shook his head and picked his fork back up. “Just goes to show you how powerful Merlin really was—if, still, no one has managed to get around a spell he cast centuries ago.”

Hermione frowned. “But spells start to wear off or weaken eventually, especially after the caster has died. Shouldn’t someone have found it by now?”

Ron shrugged, mouth once more full of food. “Dunno. I guess ma’be ‘e really is the mos’ powerful wizar’ ever.”

Hermione cringed at Ron’s table manners.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, slapping her hand onto the table. “Maybe that could be our project. We could try to find it!”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Come off it, Hermione. Assuming that’s even what actually happened, do you really think a couple of thirteen-year-olds could outsmart centuries of powerful wizards looking for it?”

Hermione’s mouth twisted as she picked at her food.

“What’s the harm in trying?” said Ron. “We could take a trip there over the Christmas holiday and look for clues. Even if we didn’t find anything, it’d be fun! More fun than research, anyway…”

“But how?” Harry asked. “I already told McGonagall I was staying at Hogwarts for the holiday. I thought you were staying too.”

Ron shrugged. “We’ll just tell her my mum invited you to stay with us. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to have you. I mean, she already sends you presents anyway! She won’t mind us travelling a bit for a school project—especially if we make it sound a bit more necessary than it really is…”

Hermione cast a perfunctory glare in his direction at the suggestion of lying to an authority figure, but she still looked excited. “My parents want me to visit them for Christmas, but if we go afterward, I could just tell them I’m coming back a bit early to work on a school project. And if we don’t find anything, we can just write our paper on comparing theories of where it might have been and what happened to it.”

“All right,” Harry agreed. “Let’s do it, then.”

They agreed to stay behind after their next lesson with Professor Ambrose to ask where the most reliable information could be found (though they planned to keep the “practical” aspect of their investigation a secret for the time being, for fear that he would protest). And while Professor Ambrose’s lessons could generally be expected to be weird and/or exciting—often with a sizeable helping of chaos—the very next one only reaffirmed Harry’s private conviction that their professor was really an eccentric old man in the body of a needlessly energetic twenty-five-year-old.

So, when he lugged an honest-to-goodness Muggle projector into the room, they all just went along with it. (“No cable,” said professor by way of explanation.) The Slytherins put up a bit of a fuss once he told them what the device actually was and where it came from, but they were quickly hooked once he started to play grainy, black-and-white videos that were nonetheless much more detailed than moving photographs.

Somehow, Ambrose had managed to come by Muggle footage of magical devices, creatures and spells. Often, these were in the background or otherwise obscured, but sometimes Muggles could be seen pointing at or talking about them. One video even had what looked suspiciously like Dementors in it, though none of the Muggles in the shot could see them.

Professor Ambrose also showed them footage of Muggle cities, mechanical devices and weapons to demonstrate how far they had advanced since wizarding society had split off—though Harry suspected he had an ulterior motive or two.

When the bell rang to signal the beginning of lunch, Professor Ambrose said, “Don’t forget that your projects are due two weeks after we return from the holiday. If you haven’t found a group yet, you can come see me after class or in my office and we’ll work something out.”

Harry, Ron and Hermione pushed their way through the exodus of students up to the front of the class as the professor attempted to pack his things: despite never visibly using a wand, everything he owned seemed to be imbued with some sort of magic that made it act… funny.

“Hoi!” Ambrose admonished when one of his quills started hopping away across the table. He needn’t have bothered, though, because a very old-looking book scrambled across the surface like a crab and snapped shut over the offending instrument.

“Thanks,” he said, and put them both in his briefcase.

Ron eyed the rest of the books nervously as Hermione spoke up.

“Erm, Professor?”

He smiled at her, blue eyes twinkling not unlike Dumbledore’s. A blank sheet of parchment tapped him on the hand with one corner, reminding him to continue packing.

“Erm,” she said again.

“We were wondering,” Harry cut in, “if you knew where the most reliable books were about the city of Camelot and where it might have been located.”

Ambrose glanced between the three of them, a slightly suspicious look in his eye, but it disappeared so quickly that Harry almost thought he had imagined it.

“I’m always happy to recommend good scholarly resources,” he said brightly. “As a matter of fact, I have some in my office that might be of use to you… Why don’t you follow me and I’ll show you?”

Once he had succeeded in wrangling his belongings into his bag, they trailed behind him as he led them to his office. “Most scholars believe the citadel to have been located somewhere near Shrewsbury,” he told them as they walked. “They’ve scoured the entire area for ruins, especially to the west.”

“But you disagree,” Hermione surmised.

The professor grinned and opened his office door, gesturing for them to enter. “I’m afraid I do,” he said. “Based on the distances described between Camelot and various landmarks, there are a few people who maintain that it’s actually closer to Llwythan.”

As he spoke, he climbed up on a dangerously wobbly chair to reach the highest shelf on the wall, pulling out and replacing several books as he searched. The office was full of books, in fact: it seemed that once he had run out of space on the bookshelves, he had simply begun piling them on his desk at random, as well as on one of the chairs. The only book not in a stack or on a shelf was a large, leather-bound tome with clasps, but no label. It looked ancient, and despite sitting on its own on a corner of his desk, was covered in a thin layer of dust.

For some reason, Professor Ambrose also had a couple of wands sticking out of a drawer, a white staff leaning against the back wall, Muggle pencils scattered all over his desk, and a variety of other instruments Harry didn’t recognise.

“Here we are!” said Ambrose, jumping down from the chair and handing Hermione a small stack of books. “There are a variety of theories in there, so you’ll see some evidence for both Shrewsbury and Llwythan and you can come to your own conclusions. Anyway,” he continued, brushing dust off himself, “why are you so interested in the exact location?”

Ron sneezed.

“That’s not the only thing we want to research,” she assured him. “Just part of it. We were hoping to find something new about it, or at least something that isn’t talked about very often.”

“Well, if you’re looking for ideas, you could always choose a specific person who contributed to Camelot in some way. I mean, Merlin wasn’t the only wizard who lived there, you know.”

Ron snorted. “Honestly, Professor, do you have something against the greatest wizard who ever lived?”

Ambrose winced. “No. Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. I just think the blind hero worship is a bit… misguided. I mean, maybe he was a bit of an idiot. Or maybe he… couldn’t swing a sword to save his life. Maybe he was a bad friend. You don’t know.”

“That’s really specific,” said Harry.

“All right, you lot,” said Ambrose, waving his hands vaguely, “you’d better get to the Great Hall before everything’s gone.”

“Huh,” said Ron as they were ushered out of the office. “Weird bloke.”

Hermione sniffed. “I like him.”

“We know.”


	2. If you can't obey the laws of physics, the least you can do is remember them

Before they knew it, Harry, Ron and Hermione were boarding the Hogwarts Express back to London, having received enthusiastic permission from Mrs. Weasley to come and visit over the holiday. The train, now surrounded by a snowy landscape, wasn’t quite as full as it normally was at the start of term, since some students were staying behind at school, but they were still unable to find a totally empty compartment.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed when she peered into the last one. “Professor!”

Professor Ambrose looked up from his book—that same old leather-bound tome from his office—and smiled, beckoning them in.

“I’m sure you’d rather not sit with a teacher on your holiday, but I’ve seen the state of the rest of the train. Feel free to sit here; I promise not to nag you about homework or anything.”

“We don’t mind,” said Hermione quickly, nonetheless taking a seat as far away from him as possible.

Ron shrugged and sat beside her, so Harry took the seat beside Ambrose.

“Why’re _you_ taking the train?” Ron asked. “Can’t you just Apparate back home?”

“Oh, I just like trains,” he answered cheerfully, watching the countryside flit past outside the window.

“You can’t Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, Ron,” Hermione reminded him.

“Ah yes, I’d forgotten,” Ambrose agreed.

His book lay open on his lap as he continued to stare through the window as if enthralled, so Harry snuck a surreptitious look at the page he was on. The ancient paper was covered in colourful illustrations and large, handwritten text in a language Harry couldn’t identify.

He supposed it wasn’t too very odd that a history professor was proficient in an ancient language or two, but strangely, Ambrose didn’t even seem to be reading when his eyes returned to the page. Instead, he idly flipped through the thick pages, occasionally quirking a smile that didn’t look quite right.

Without warning, a chill ran down Harry’s spine—one which was entirely unrelated to the odd book. At the same moment, Professor Ambrose looked up with a jerk, peering through the frosty window at the cloudy landscape.

Harry didn’t need to look to know that they must be passing by some of the Dementors guarding the area surrounding Hogwarts, but he saw them anyway. Dark, cloaked figures like smoke lingered in the distance, and though Professor Lupin had said that they weren’t supposed to board the train, Harry started to feel a little lightheaded at their presence. He was fighting it off this time, as fortunately, they didn’t appear to be moving any closer—

With a THUMP that startled Harry out of his trance, Professor Ambrose’s book dropped onto the floor and snapped shut heavily. Harry jumped out of his seat, but Ambrose didn’t appear to notice: he was shivering violently, staring blankly ahead, with both hands pressed tightly over his ears. It looked as though he were struggling against something—but just then, all tension left his body and he fell back against the frosted-over window, hands and eyelids both lowering in an instant as he fell unconscious.

Ron and Hermione looked up at Harry worriedly, but he felt fine. He turned to the door to go get help, but a sudden burst of white light blinded him momentarily, and then there was a translucent, glowing barrier before him. Harry whipped around to see that a forcefield like Lupin’s was encircling the four of them on all sides, despite the absence of Dementors. He shot a questioning look at Ron and Hermione, who nodded nervously toward Ambrose; but no one could cast a spell while unconscious…

And then it was over. As the train continued to rattle forward, Professor Ambrose winced and opened his eyes, looking around in confusion at the frightened students and the glowing shield. He sighed and waved a hand, and suddenly the shield dissolved in a flurry of fading light. He still hadn’t drawn his wand.

“Dementors,” he muttered, standing and picking his book up carefully from the floor, dusting it off as if out of habit. He didn’t put it back in the magical pouch around his neck, though—just held it against his chest as he wandered out of the compartment.

He paused at the door, glancing back with a half-hearted smile. “Have a good Christmas.”

They were too stunned to respond, and Ambrose didn’t wait for an answer before sliding the door gently shut behind him.

He didn’t return.

* * *

When the train arrived safely at King’s Cross Station, their professor was still nowhere to be seen.

“What do you reckon that was about back there?” Ron muttered to Harry as they lugged their bags down the steps—he was still slightly, instinctively afraid of Ambrose despite his unassuming appearance. Harry couldn’t help but sympathise somewhat.

Hermione heard him anyway. “Obviously he had the same reaction to the Dementors as Harry. It _should_ be reassuring.”

“It isn’t,” said Harry. “And clearly, he had a worse reaction, because I was fine that time. They were pretty far away.”

Hermione huffed, but that might have been due to the ongoing struggle with her book-filled bags.

“Did Lupin ever say why you fainted that first time?” Ron asked, setting his things down to look around for his family.

“He said it was because Voldemort killed my parents,” said Harry. “That’s why I heard my mum screaming.”

Hermione sighed. “Dementors feed on happy thoughts and memories, leaving only the worst ones and making you relive them. So, people who have had traumatic experiences, or a lot of them, will be affected badly.”

“Great,” Ron muttered. “Now he has a tragic backstory too.”

“Don’t be mean, Ronald. I’m sure it was very hard for Professor Ambrose. That’s probably why he left.”

“But where did he even go?” Harry wondered, half to himself.

“Ah, there’s Mum!” Ron pointed over the heads of the people milling about, and Mrs. Weasley waved back when she saw them.

Fred, George and Ginny had already found her, and were beckoning them to get a move on. Percy, Ron had said, was staying behind at Hogwarts this year.

“There’s my parents,” said Hermione, gesturing to a confused-looking couple a little further off. “I’ll see you two soon. And _don’t_ forget to do your part of the project over the break.”

Harry and Ron grumbled their agreement. “Happy Christmas,” they chorused, and waved goodbye as she dodged her way through the crowd.

Ron shook his head as he and Harry started through the throng of students. “Weird day, mate.”

* * *

As it happened, Christmas was the only day that week that _wasn’t_ weird. Excepting the normal Weasley weirdness, anyway.

“ARTHUR!” Mrs. Weasley shouted from the garden. “Stop undermining me with the gnomes! If you keep coddling them, they’re going to think they’re part of the family!”

Mr. Weasley winced; Ron glanced up briefly before continuing to shovel food into his mouth; Fred, George and Ginny carried on their conversation as if nothing had happened.

Harry shrugged and continued munching on his toast as Mrs. Weasley harrumphed through the door. He straightened the scarlet jumper she had knit for him; as usual, he had received nothing from the Dursleys for Christmas, but Mrs. Weasley had given him not only the jumper, but a few sweets as well. To show his gratitude, he made sure to eat everything she put in front of him that morning.

“Harry, dear,” she said as she began to gather up the dishes from breakfast, “where is it you three have to go for your school assignment?”

He shared a glance with Ron. “Llwythan, wasn’t it?”

“I know the place,” said Mr. Weasley. “They’ve got a nice little wizarding village, I hear. What are you going there for?”

“We’re researching Camelot,” said Ron. “I think Hermione’s hoping to find some ruins or something.”

“Oh, if there were any, I’m sure we’d know by now,” said Mrs. Weasley.

“That’s what I said,” Harry agreed.

“Even if we don’t find anything, the fact we went looking for it is bound to get us a few extra points.”

“Since when do you care about extra points?” said Harry.

“They’re extra,” said Ron. “Who doesn’t like extra stuff?”

In the end, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley agreed to go as a group on Sunday; the two of them would make a day of it, visiting the shops for a few hours to allow the trio room to do their research unimpeded. Harry was dubious about Fred and George being given free rein of the house, but neither he nor Ron were much inclined to point that out. Besides, they were too focused on trying to finish reading the books Hermione had assigned them before she arrived the next day.

“This is impossible,” Ron groaned as he and Harry sat by the hearth and stared listlessly into their books. “Especially if we’re not allowed to mention Merlin. He’s practically all they talk about in here—except for a debate over whether it was King Arthur or Queen Guinevere who made Camelot the first official wizarding settlement, which they can’t even decide on. I mean, what’s that bloke’s problem, anyway?”

“What bloke?” asked Harry, turning a page he hadn’t even read.

“Professor Ambrose. I hate to agree with Slytherins, but it’s not fair that we can’t write about the greatest wizard to ever live just because our teacher’s got some sort of hangup about him.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe he was telling the truth about being sick of reading about it.”

“Oh, so _now_ you’re not suspicious all of a sudden.”

“I didn’t say _that_ exactly.”

“And anyway,” Ron added, chewing on the end of his quill, “you were raised by Muggles. You probably don’t even know about half the stuff he did.”

“To be honest, I sometimes forget he was a real person, with all the ‘Merlin’s beard’ this and the ‘Merlin’s pants’ that.”

“Maybe that’s the real reason Ambrose is sick of hearing his name,” Ron joked.

The two of them pushed on through the textbooks as best they could until lunch, then got right back to it (well, after a quick game of Quidditch). And that evening, finally having finished the bare minimum of reading, they went to bed late and fell asleep quickly.

* * *

Hermione was there bright and early the next morning, accompanied by her parents and carrying a bag full of who-knew-what (probably books). Mr. and Mrs. Granger were polite, despite carrying a general air of confusion about them, and sensibly declined Mrs. Weasley’s offer of tea as soon as they caught sight of the dishes washing themselves in the sink.

And so, at barely nine o’clock, they were on their way. Unfortunately, that ‘way’ turned out to be the Knight Bus, so when they arrived an hour or so later, they were in absolutely no condition to eat the sandwiches Mrs. Weasley had packed for them.

“Well, you just go on ahead, then,” said Mrs. Weasley. “It’s a small village, so you won’t have trouble finding us if you need anything, right?”

“We’re fine, Dad,” said Ron.

Harry and Hermione looked up and down the quaint main street as they talked. It was still a bit foggy, but there were a few witches and wizards strolling in the narrow road, and a pleasant smell was emanating from a bakery somewhere.

“All right then, you kids have fun!” said Mr. Weasley as he and his wife wandered up the road.

“Bye, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry.

Hermione nudged him and Ron. “Guys.” She pointed to a nearby shop, whose indecipherable, Y-filled sign was swinging in the slight breeze. “I think we should go in there before we leave town. It mentions Camelot—we might be able to get some information there.”

Ron squinted at the sign. “Since when do you speak Welsh?”

“I learned a few key phrases before we came here,” she answered quickly, already pulling them across the street. “Now come on, we haven’t got all day.”

The boys shrugged and followed her into the shop, a small bell on the door signalling their entrance. Inside, they looked around at what appeared to be a small bookshop. It was lit chiefly by candlelight, which struck Harry as an exceedingly bad idea given the notorious flammability of books, but he could only assume they were magically protected.

“Good morning,” said Hermione, and Harry turned to see that she was addressing the kindly-looking old witch sitting behind a narrow desk in the corner.

“We’re doing a research project on the historical location of Camelot,” Hermione explained, “and we were wondering if you knew of any sources that might give us some clues.”

“Or rumours,” said Ron. To Hermione, he added, “Mum says local legends are some of the best sources of information.”

The old woman smiled. “Well, of course I have quite a few books on the subject, but I’m afraid none of them can give you a definitive answer as to _where_ exactly the legendary citadel might have been. Your friend here has got the right idea, though, I’d say. As a matter of fact, my good friend Mr. Davis just up the road talks my ear off about his theories on the matter practically every other day. He runs the curiosity shop just past that eyesore of a café if you’d like to ask him about it. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to tell you everything you want to know, and then some.”

“Great!” said Ron. “Let’s go.”

“Wait—” Hermione grabbed his sleeve to stop him from leaving. “Don’t you think we ought to at least check a few books first?”

Ron scoffed. “You’ve been reading nonstop ever since we got the assignment. I seriously doubt you’ll find anything new no matter how many books you read. Diminishing returns, Hermione.”

They continued arguing as Ron stealthily steered Hermione in the direction of the door.

“Sorry,” said Harry sheepishly. “And thanks for your help. For what it’s worth, we’ll probably be back later,” he added, glancing at Hermione’s continued attempts to return to the bookshop.

“I hope so,” she said, smiling as she picked up the bookmarked novel sitting on her desk. “We don’t get young people coming around here very often.”

“Harry!” Ron called from outside; Harry rushed through the door with one last apologetic smile.

“Come on, mate!” Ron and Hermione were already heading down the road toward the blue and orange café that Harry could only assume was the ‘eyesore’ the shop owner had mentioned.

“We’re finally getting somewhere,” said Ron cheerfully. Hermione glared at him, but didn’t protest.

The curiosity shop was a bit hard to pick out; at first, they nearly walked past the darkened window hidden in a slight recess beside the café, but Hermione pointed up at the faded English lettering above, which read simply: _Davis & Son._

Ron tried the door, which opened with only a slight creak. So they _were_ open for business, apparently. Hermione followed a bit reluctantly, and Harry shut the door behind him against the cold.

When Harry’s eyes adjusted to the dimness of the dusty interior, he saw a small room filled with cabinets, shelves and boxes housing a strange assortment of mysterious-looking objects that reminded him vaguely of Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley. The glass eye on a nearby ledge was the first thing to jump out at Harry, since he got the distinct impression it was watching him.

“Good evening,” said an ominous-sounding voice from the shadows.

All three of them jumped and whirled around to see only the brim of a hat and the tip of a nose fully visible in the half-light.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Erm—hello?”

“It’s ten a.m.,” Ron whispered, sounding as confused as Harry felt.

Harry took half a step in front of his friends. “We were sent—well… the woman who runs the bookshop down the street, she said you might be able to help us?”

“Ah!” An old man stepped out from the shadows—even older than the woman—and he beamed, his tone changing abruptly as he said, “Mrs. Aubrey, of course. She likes to send lore enthusiasts my way every so often. So what can I interest you in today? A bit of Camelotian history? Some good old Merlin legends?”

Ron was the first to recover from the tonal whiplash. “We’re trying to find out more about the historical location of Camelot. Or at least, we were hoping to learn something most people don’t know about it.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place!” said the man, making a beeline for the back of the store. “I’ve got quite a bit of Camelotian artefacts back here, though not all of them have been verified. I dug a few of them up myself, you see. You can find a lot of strange things buried round these parts if you know where to look.”

“That’s great!” said Hermione. “Where did you look exactly?”

“Well, the forests are your best bet,” he explained. “That’s where the Druids used to live—they were nomadic, but they seemed to prefer the shelter of the trees, and they believed forest magic was special or sacred. There are a few strange-looking glades outside of town that I’ve tried, but I’d have to check my map to find out which ones. I keep losing track. In fact, look at this.”

He led them to a dusty cabinet, which he opened to reveal a lot of ancient-looking objects, some of which were still partially caked in dirt. A cloud of dust drifted down into their faces as they looked.

Ron sneezed.

“This one, for example,” said Mr. Davis, carefully picking up what appeared to be a stack of magnifying glasses on a stick. “It’s thought to have been an early attempt at creating a microscope. Or this—" With his free hand, he pointed to an iron contraption which appeared to have pieces meant to swing or rotate. “According to the legends, Merlin himself spent a long time attempting to create objects that were meant to turn back time, although no one knows exactly why. As far as I know, this is the only one that has been recovered in one piece; but no one has been able to figure out how it works, so for all I know, it could be a counterfeit.”

He shrugged and replaced the ‘microscope’. “Go ahead and look through these if you want—just don’t touch anything, some of them are dangerous. I’ll go and find that map.”

And he bustled off without further ado.

“Odd bloke,” Ron reflected, watching him disappear around the corner.

“He’s not the only one,” said Harry wryly.

Hermione reached into her bag to pull out a small notebook and a Muggle pen to start jotting things down, but the spirals snagged on a golden chain. Yanked out of the bag, it tumbled to the floor along with a circular pendant Harry didn’t get a good look at, because Hermione dove for it immediately, dropping her pen in the process and scrambling to catch the necklace as it slid away toward the cabinet.

“Calm down, I’ve got it,” said Ron, rolling his eyes at her panic, but she frantically shoved him away before he could reach for it.

“Hey—!” Ron stumbled into the edge of the cabinet, bumping into a machine that toppled dangerously.

Harry pulled Hermione out of the way as the iron contraption crashed to the floor, scrunching his eyes shut against the noise—

But it never came.

When Harry opened his eyes, he, Ron and Hermione were in the middle of a darkened forest.


	3. Don’t muck about when surrounded by dangerous artefacts

“RON!” Hermione shrieked.

“Merlin’s beard!” said Ron, staring around at the trees surrounding them on all sides.

“What were you _thinking?”_

“Where are we?” said Ron, ignoring her completely.

“Where’s the Time-Turner?”

“That was a Time-Turner?” Ron screeched.

“What’s a Time-Turner?” Harry cut in.

“Why do you have a Time-Turner?” Ron’s pitch was increasing with every question.

“Oh, thank Merlin, here it is…”

Harry could barely see in the growing darkness, but Hermione fished a glinting chain out of the grass as they all stood up off the mossy ground.

“Where’d that other thing go?” said Ron, scuffing at the ground with his foot as he searched for it in the half-light.

“Oh, no!” Hermione cried.

“ _What_ is a Time-Turner?” Harry asked again.

“Oh, _no!”_

“Guys!” Harry insisted.

“It lets you travel back in time,” said Hermione, nearly weeping now. “I don’t know what happened—”

_“I do!”_ Ron shrieked. “We’ve travelled back in time!”

“You don’t think they interacted somehow—”

“Does it _look_ like we’ve gone back a couple of hours? The whole village is gone!”

“What is happening,” said Harry, mostly to himself.

“But that thing was probably a fake—” Hermione pleaded.

“Obviously, it wasn’t!” said Ron.

“Maybe it just sent us somewhere else, outside of town—”

“Oh yeah, because that’s what time machines do—”

“—or maybe it’s a practical joke…”

“Are you serious, Hermione?”

“GUYS!” Harry shouted. “Whatever the hell is going on, we’re still in a random forest, in the middle of the night, and who knows what could be out there! Can we focus on getting out of here, maybe?”

Ron and Hermione snapped their mouths shut, the former red-faced and the latter holding back tears.

Harry took a deep breath. “So, let me get this straight. One, time machines exist; two, you have one for some reason; and three, we may have found another one, possibly created by Merlin himself, and we have no idea how it works or where it currently is.”

Hermione nodded, looking down at her shoes.

“Great,” said Harry. “Well, wherever—or whenever—we are, there are bound to be people somewhere around here, right? We’d better try and find them.”

“But what if they aren’t friendly?” said Hermione.

“What if they’re Muggles?” said Ron.

Harry threw up his hands. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it!”

Just then, a shout came from somewhere to the left. The trio whipped around, but there was no one in sight.

Another shout. It was clearly a man’s voice, and it sounded like a question, but Harry couldn’t understand the language. And then, with a spooky level of coordination, hooded figures emerged from the trees around them—a half-dozen, maybe. To be honest, Harry wasn’t even surprised at their appearance, what with all the shouting the three of them had been doing.

“We’re at the bridge, Harry,” Ron muttered.

When one of the hooded figures said something again, Hermione blurted, “We’re sorry, we can’t understand you!”

The strangers seemed to discuss amongst themselves for a moment.

_Can you understand us now?_

Harry jumped at the sudden voice in his head. A glance at Ron and Hermione confirmed they had heard it, too.

The group seemed to have their answer.

_We felt a magical disturbance_ , the voice said. At the same time, one of the figures stepped forward and lowered his hood. An old man stood before them, dressed in simple, coarse clothing under his green cloak. His grey hair fell almost to his shoulders, and he nodded as he spoke into their minds again. _We mean you no harm. We are a peaceful race. I sense that you cannot speak with us through magic, but if you are in need, we would welcome you into our camp._

The trio exchanged confused glances, but the old man and the rest were already retreating into the forest, so they followed, clinging onto the only lifeline in sight.

The group of them walked through the trees for such a long time that Harry began to consider just running away in a random direction, but it was a rather absurd impulse. Still, he was beginning to worry that they were walking into a cult or something, what with the hoods, and the telepathy, and the absolute _silence_ in which the strangers all managed to walk through the thick woods. Harry felt (and sounded) like a bear in comparison. He stuck close to Ron and Hermione as the strangers flanked them, still walking at a brisk pace.

Harry only began to relax when he heard the echoes of familiar sounds in the distance: children playing, a fire crackling, the low rumble of conversation… And soon, they emerged into a small clearing in the seemingly unending forest. All around them were people in plain, dark clothing milling about cooking fires and scattered tents, and a few of them stopped to stare as the trio clumped even closer together.

The group that had accompanied them removed their hoods and dispersed into the encampment, leaving only the old man behind. He gave some sort of announcement to the people gathered around, then beckoned to Harry, Ron and Hermione, leading them toward the centre of the camp, where a few older people sat around a large fire. They all nodded politely as the old man invited the three of them to sit.

_I am called Frewain. Where do you come from?_ said the old man’s voice in their heads.

“We don’t really know…” said Hermione in a small voice.

Harry gave an exaggerated shrug and gestured vaguely, trying to communicate that they were lost.

_We are in Essetir,_ said Frewain, smiling encouragingly. _It is one of the kingdoms where Druids are still welcome. I sense that you are sorcerers as well, so it is fortunate that you find yourselves here. It has become dangerous for people like us._

Hermione looked aghast. “The Druids died out centuries ago!” she hissed, turning to Harry.

“Great,” he said. “So it’s worse than we thought.”

“Unless this _is_ all an elaborate joke?” said Ron tentatively.

Frewain gave them a questioning look.

“We are… very far from home,” Harry told him, even though he couldn’t understand. He pointed forcefully in the direction of (he guessed) England, since he had virtually no idea of how to convey the idea of time travel through gestures.

_You are lost?_ he guessed.

They all nodded forcefully.

_You must have travelled far. I do not recognise your language. We Druids are able to communicate amongst ourselves in this way, but only our elders—myself included—are strong enough to transmit our thoughts to normal sorcerers like yourselves, and as you can see, it is rudimentary. Are you in danger? Do you need assistance?_

Harry hesitated, but nodded again. They needed to get back home, and he had no idea how they were supposed to do that. Maybe there was a more “elder” elder…

Frewain shared a glance with the other elders before he spoke again. _I know of only one person who might be able to communicate with you and help you return home… But it is a dangerous journey, and I cannot be sure…_

The trio shared a worried glance.

_He is the most powerful magical creature there is,_ Frewain explained, _and we hesitate to put him at risk in any way, but I know not how else we can help you._

Harry had a feeling that claim might be exaggerated, but it was still their best hope. “Where can we find him?” he asked, pointing in different directions and furrowing his brow to communicate confusion.

The elders exchanged another glance.

_He lives in the realm just to the west, ruled by King Uther. It is called Camelot._

“Camelot!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Hold on—” said Harry. “There’s _no_ way we travelled that far back. That’s just…”

“But we could look for Merlin there!” said Ron quickly. “If anyone could help us, it’d be him.”

“But King Uther was before his time,” said Hermione. “That’s King Arthur’s father—and who knows if _he_ has even been born yet, much less become king and hired a court sorcerer.”

_I see you have heard of it,_ said Frewain. _Then you must know that it is extremely hostile toward all magical folk. The use of magic is punishable by death in Camelot. Large numbers of us have already been wiped out in the Great Purge that King Uther initiated; very few Druids are left, and all of the dragons have been destroyed._

“We’re too early,” said Hermione gloomily.

“We’re close,” said Ron. “Merlin might be alive right now; we could still look for him—"

Harry groaned. “But we can’t exactly wait around for fifty to a hundred years for him to turn up, can we? And what if he’s just a kid?”

“Besides, we don’t really know how powerful he actually was outside of the legends,” Hermione pointed out. “Who knows if he would even be able to help us?”

_We can accompany you to the border of Camelot if you wish to go there,_ said Frewain, _but you must be careful. Emrys can protect you, but reaching him will be difficult._

Harry sighed. “I guess it’s worth a shot. If there’s some all-powerful Druid out there, maybe he _can_ help us—or at the very least, maybe he could help us find Merlin. What else are we supposed to do?”

Ron and Hermione nodded somewhat reluctantly.

“Emrys?” Harry asked Frewain.

He smiled. _Very well. We shall take you to seek the aid of Emrys. I and a few others can accompany you in the morning. But for now, please share our meal. You must be weary from your journey._

~~~

If Harry wasn’t sure they were really in the Dark Ages, the dinner they shared with the Druids would have convinced him. He was grateful for their help and hospitality, but it was difficult to adjust to eating what basically amounted to rabbit-flavoured water—Hermione especially, but that was probably mostly because she couldn’t stomach eating a cute animal whose fur was in a pile ten feet away. Ron, on the other hand, had no trouble finishing his “stew” after some initial hesitation at the odd taste of it.

Hermione gathered up the sandwiches Mrs. Weasley had made them that morning (and what a strange thought that was) and divided them up amongst the people gathered around the fire as a gesture of goodwill. Unsurprisingly, the Druids found the ‘foreign fare’ equally bizarre, but at least they seemed to be pleased that meat was involved.

When Frewain showed them to a tent that must have been cleared out for the three of them and bid them a good night, Hermione rummaged through their bags and pockets for anything that could be useful.

Harry and Ron, unfortunately, had only their wands, a few broken quills and now-useless coins between them—plus a folded scrap of parchment Harry hadn’t even realised he had. Hermione, of course, had brought a few books, along with her notebook, the _bloody_ Time-Turner, a small spade, and a camera.

“It was a Christmas present,” she said of the latter, a bit tearfully. “Maybe—if we find someone who could help—it could prove we’re from the future? But I don’t know, it might just look like magic.”

“At least we have our wands,” said Ron bracingly.

None of them slept much that night. Whether it was because of the hard ground, the cold, or the fact that the village they had been standing in that morning had since disappeared from the face of the Earth, they were all wide awake when a young Druid girl came to wake them at dawn.

Just as Frewain had said, she wasn’t able to communicate with them telepathically, but she beckoned and pointed to the sun, so they got the message. Unable to brush their teeth, take a bath, or comb their hair, they did the best they could to straighten themselves up before going to meet the small company of cloaked Druids waiting on the edge of the encampment. The rest of the settlement was just beginning to wake up when they set off, and the morning was frigid and damp.

_Take these_ , said Frewain, handing them each a travelling cloak and a tiny loaf of bread. _The day will be long. We have no horses to spare for the journey, but if we keep pace, we should make it to the border by nightfall._ The three of them donned the surprisingly warm cloaks over their jumpers and trousers, and though Harry felt increasingly out of place with each passing moment, at least they had a plan.

_We will make camp with you near the border,_ said Frewain _. Afterwards, you should reach Camelot before the next nightfall if you make good time._

They walked in single file through the trees as quietly as they could, following no path that Harry could see, and Frewain spoke in their minds as they set off.

_We must be cautious as we approach Camelot. Uther’s knights mostly stay within their borders, but any bandits or villagers who witness acts of magic may turn us in—and King Uther is not known for his mercy in these matters._

“Why is Emrys there?” Hermione whispered in Harry’s ear. “It seems dangerous.”

“Yeah, shouldn’t he live in a cave on a mountain or something?” said Ron.

“How will we find him once we get there?” said Hermione.

“Why are you asking me?” Harry hissed.

But Frewain seemed to have a vague idea of what they were discussing. _I have never met Emrys in person_ , he said. ( _Great_ , Harry thought.) _But creatures of magic cannot fail to recognise him. He is Magic Incarnate, more powerful and eternal than we mortals can conceive of. When you are in his presence, you will know that he could be no one else._

Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a doubtful look, but said nothing. Regardless of whether this bloke was a crackpot or not, it was the only chance they had.


	4. Shouting matches are generally detrimental to one’s ability to sneak effectively

That first night, after a long day of nothing but walking, they set up camp in some corner of the forest that looked almost exactly the same as the place they had first found themselves in, although Frewain seemed certain that they were heading in the right direction. Perhaps they were sticking to the trees on purpose in order to avoid being seen.

Either way, by the time they set down their burdens and started to gather up firewood, Harry’s feet and back were so sore that he resolved to move as little as possible for the rest of the night. He was also absolutely famished, so when the two young Druids returned from a quick hunt with a pair of rabbits, he barely even flinched at the process the young men undertook of skinning and preparing them.

The six of them shared the same watery stew as they had had the night before, and as the Druids talked amongst themselves, Harry wrapped his cloak around himself and ate as quickly as he could before the food went cold and became even more unpalatable.

“I wonder if Mum’s looking for us,” said Ron quietly.

After a moment, Hermione said, “What if we’ve already changed something? Maybe because we’re here, we don’t even exist anymore in our time.”

“That’s optimistic,” said Harry. “Look, we don’t even know how any of this works. Maybe it’s all temporary and we’ll just reappear back in that old shop like nothing ever happened. Hermione, how does that Time-Turner even work? Can we use it to get back?”

She shook her head. “It’s limited to a range of five hours. It just has an Hour-Reversal Charm on it, it shouldn’t have been able to do this on its own… I was only using it to take extra classes.”

“You’re carrying around a _time machine_ so that you can spend even more time in class?”Ron barked. “For Merlin’s sake, _why_?”

Hermione started to tear up again. “I—I didn’t have enough room to take all the electives I… Oh, it doesn’t matter now! It was stupid, all right? I’m barely keeping up with the homework, and I can’t get enough sleep for all the extra hours I’m spending awake… I just wanted to have a good future, and now look where we are!”

“Why did you even bring it with you?” Ron exclaimed.

“What was I supposed to do, leave it in the dormitory for anyone to stumble upon?” she retorted. “Or leave it at home with my parents—who, might I remind you, are _Muggles?”_

“Come on, guys,” said Harry. “It’s not Hermione’s fault. How were we supposed to know two time machines could interact like that? Or that they were even real, by the way—why has nobody ever mentioned that time travel is real? No one tells me anything!”

_Is everything all right?_ Frewain asked. When they nodded, he stood and said, _Come. We can wash our faces and our dishes in the river._

The trio followed, but splashing his face with river water only made Harry more conscious of how much they all smelled, and it did nothing to get the greasy feeling out of his hair and clothes. Hermione’s hair in particular was tangled beyond belief, and she soon gave up trying to run her fingers through it to calm it.

From Professor Ambrose’s class, Harry vaguely recalled that the Romans had had running water in their cities; he only hoped that Camelot would have something similar. Merlin’s beard, this was the most hands-on project in the history of research. They had _better_ get extra credit for this.

As they all settled down onto their bedrolls, Harry tried to concentrate on those extra credit points, and not on whether or not they would ever see Hogwarts again.

* * *

The next day was similarly gruelling. Harry somehow woke up with more sore muscles than he had had when he fell asleep, and his condition didn’t improve over the course of the long, hilly day.

But at least they finally made it out of the forest. At around noon, their little troupe emerged from thinning woods onto a large, grassy plain that stretched out for miles in front of them. Beyond that, up on a distant hill, began another stretch of woods that Harry hoped wasn’t as extensive as the one they had just emerged from.

The trees grew slowly closer as they walked through hills and down into the occasional ravine, and by nightfall they had just barely reached the shelter of the treeline.

_We are now in hostile lands_ , said Frewain as they made camp for the second time. _We shall take turns watching through the night: you children sleep, for you have another day’s journey ahead of you._

None of them protested, and when they rose once more with the dawn, Harry felt simultaneously as if mere hours had passed since their arrival in the forest, and as if it had been weeks already.

They ate together one last time that morning as Frewain gave them some final instructions. _When you reach Camelot,_ he said, _if you cannot find Emrys, you must seek out the court physician; he is said to be aware of Emrys’s movements. But you must be on the lookout for knights in red, and you should refrain from practicing magic while you are here, lest someone catch sight of you and send you to the pyre. Avoid people as much as you can, because your language will make them suspicious._

_Look._ He lifted his sleeve to show them a triskelion tattoo on his wrist. _This is the mark of the Druids. When you find Emrys, you must show him this sign, and he will know that we have sent you—and that you are friends of Magic._

Hermione tore a page out of her small notebook and copied down the symbol before folding it up and pocketing it.

Frewain nodded. _Camelot lies just to the west,_ he said, pointing into the distance. _If you travel straight in that direction, you should be able to see the citadel when you leave the treeline. Since you are unfamiliar with the terrain, you must follow the path, but hide if you hear horses approaching: they could be knights, bandits, or worse. You must defend yourselves until you reach Emrys, but once you find him, he can protect you._

Harry, Ron and Hermione nodded and began to gather up their things. Harry started to remove his cloak, but Frewain stopped him.

_Keep them_ , he said. _And be safe. We must take our leave now. Travel well, young friends._

“Thank you,” said Harry as he watched them leave. Frewain smiled, and without a sound, the Druids picked their way back through the trees.

“Let’s go,” said Ron, looking around the eerily quiet forest. “This place is making me nervous.”

If Harry had thought the journey with the Druids was difficult, it was even more so now that they were alone. The three of them barely spoke, too busy listening for approaching hooves and trying to navigate the dirt road. At some points, it was so narrow and overgrown that they had difficulty distinguishing between the actual path and the faint tracks of wild animals.

And this was especially problematic because of the sudden abundance of wild animals. As the trio drew closer to Camelot, deer and foxes pranced unafraid through the moss; rabbits and squirrels and field mice scurried happily through tall grass and whispering leaves; honeybees, butterflies and all manner of brightly coloured birds sang and fluttered and moseyed in the sky and all around their heads.

“This,” said Harry in a low voice, looking around at the strangely harmonious wildlife and the uncommonly fragrant and vivid greenery, “is not normal.”

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione murmured, just as hesitant as Harry to raise her voice above the peaceful sounds of the forest.

“You’re right,” said Ron, and Harry couldn’t tell which of them he was talking to. “It’s magic.”

Of course it was. To Harry, the forest here felt almost like Hogwarts had on the first day he had arrived, crossing the Black Lake with his soon-to-be classmates—at once potent and immense, like the electric pressure of an approaching storm… but as unearthly as this magic felt around them, it also felt like home.

“Could this be a sacred place of some kind?” said Hermione.

At that exact moment, a unicorn traipsed across the clearing, ignoring them completely, before disappearing among the trees once more.

For a moment, no one spoke.

“Seems like a fair bet,” Harry remarked.

They continued on their journey, but instead of diminishing, the general aura of impossibility only grew as they walked: and it became increasingly clear that they were only getting closer to the source of the phenomenon. Harry just hoped they were still on course for Camelot.

“I hope whatever this is isn’t out to get us,” Ron muttered.

Right, there was that too.

They walked on, wading through pockets of flowers and bouncing over mossy hillocks, and though their spirits lifted somewhat, still they walked in silence. By the time the day grew truly warm, the sun was high in the sky, and there was no end to the forest in sight.

“Since when are there this many trees in Wales?” Ron grumbled as they waded through a large patch of brush.

“A lot of forests were cut down during the Bronze Age,” said Hermione, “and then the Romans and the Normans made it even worse.”

“How do you even know that?” Ron muttered, half rhetorically.

“I actually pay attention in class, Ronald,” she sighed. “Like I’ve told you to do a thousand times.”

“Yeah, well, sorry I don’t hang on Ambrose’s every word like you do.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I did, or we wouldn’t even know what century we were in right now!”

“We still don’t!”

Harry shushed them. “Guys. Guys! Shut it. I think I hear something.”

The three of them stumbled off the path and into the trees, coming to a panting standstill as they listened. There was some sort of rustling… probably just an animal—but that feeling of being watched was unshakeable.

And then, without warning, something came crashing out of the bushes, shouting and waving his arms—it was only a young man, unarmed, his back turned to them. He yelled into the trees with urgency in his voice, clearly talking to someone other than the three teenagers…

And _then_ came the knights. Sweaty young men in light armour and chainmail trudged out of their hiding places, unloading their crossbows, sheathing their swords, and grumbling at the tall, skinny, shabbily dressed man that now stood out among them like a sore thumb. One of the knights stepped forward to address the trio, his tone sounding kind enough, but even if they could have understood his language, they wouldn’t have paid him much attention.

Because the young man standing beside him, the person who had apparently just saved their lives, was not only tall, skinny and black-haired; not only did he have gentle blue eyes and large ears that were all too familiar; he was also beaming at them with a wide, unmistakeable grin that was currently about ten times less reassuring than it normally was, because it decidedly did _not_ belong in the middle of a forest, surrounded by knights, in the _Dark Ages._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! It's been great to hear from you all so far, and we've had a lot of interesting discussions. This note is to share some news: I'm going to start updating on both Mondays and Fridays from here on out (barring some calamity), so you won't have to wait as long to read the next chapter.
> 
> So, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I look forward to sharing the next one with you all in a few days. In the meantime, have a good week, and stay safe!


	5. Context clues: use them

Running into a teacher outside of school is always a rather jarring experience. However, Harry was absolutely certain that this was both the worst and the weirdest time to have that particular problem.

Because—just to make sure he had it straight in his head—he and his friends were in the _very_ distant past, trying to hunt down some sort of deity, standing in a forest that had since disappeared, surrounded by knights, and the universe decides that now is a good time to have their history teacher stroll out of the woods as if he weren’t meant to be at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, over a thousand years in the future, at this very moment.

In all honesty, Harry would have been less surprised to run into Lord Voldemort himself than the young, clumsy new history teacher who was very possibly a Squib. Clearly, this whole thing was nothing but a fever dream that Harry would proceed to tell exactly no one about when he woke up.

But the blond knight was still waiting for one of them to speak.

“Erm,” Hermione squeaked, staring fixedly at their professor’s doppelgänger as he smiled cheerfully back.

Ron shook his head vigorously. “It’s not him.”

“Of course not!” Hermione agreed shrilly. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

Ron continued shaking his head. “Nope.”

“I’m losing my mind,” Harry muttered.

The blond knight was eyeing them with increasing concern; he turned to Prof—to the other one, whatever his name was—and asked him something, gesturing at the three teenagers. He shrugged and made some retort, and it wasn’t long before all five of the group were arguing.

Eventually, the first knight raised his hands for silence and tried to speak to Harry, Ron and Hermione again.

“Sorry,” said Harry. “We can’t understand you.”

The knight shrugged and said something to the group; more gesturing. Either the blond knight or the unarmed one seemed to be in charge, as the former was in the front of the group but the latter was the most protected by the formation the knights seemed to instinctively be standing in; unfortunately, the interactions _between_ those two gave no indication one way or the other.

Eventually, the blond knight beckoned to the trio, pointing in the direction of Camelot (hopefully) and raising his empty hands in a gesture of goodwill.

Harry glanced dubiously at Ron and Hermione, but who knew what would happen if they didn’t go with them—and they might offer safer passage.

Professor Ambrose’s doppelgänger nodded encouragingly and said something; the knight rolled his eyes, and the two of them started arguing again. For a split second, Harry could have sworn—

“Did you hear that?” Hermione hissed.

“What?” said Ron.

“I think—I think he mentioned Merlin.”

“I heard it too!” said Harry quickly. “Are you sure it’s not just some similar-sounding word in whatever language they’re speaking?”

“Of course I’m not sure!” said Hermione. “But we need to find either Camelot or Merlin, and this is our best chance at both.”

When Harry looked back at the knights, they were all staring at the three of them.

The blond knight asked them a question, and Harry was _sure_ he heard “Merlin” in there somewhere that time.

“Yes!” said Hermione. “Merlin! Do you know where he is?”

The knight shrugged, clapped his friend on the shoulder, and beckoned to them again, walking off into the forest. The other man shouted after him; Harry, Ron and Hermione just followed.

Not far away, they came upon five horses tied up in a small clearing, many of them bearing saddlebags. The four knights mounted their horses, but the one who (for some reason) had no armour or weapons approached Hermione carefully, gesturing that he wanted to help her onto the back of the blond knight’s horse. She hesitated, but there seemed to be no other option, so after a moment she nodded. He held out his hands for her to step into, and when she did, he boosted her easily up so that she was sitting side-saddle behind the knight.

Harry was beginning to get the impression that this doppelgänger was some sort of servant, but his demeanour with the knights didn’t seem right if that were the case. He didn’t get much time to think about it, though, because the man mounted his own horse quickly and reached down for Harry’s hand. He took it warily, but found it surprisingly easy to climb up behind him with the added boost; the strange young man was stronger than he looked. Harry glanced over to see that Hermione and Ron were now both perched similarly, behind other knights.

They started moving slowly, but it was more unstable than Harry had expected, and he nearly slid off the side; the black-haired man stopped the horse and said something over his shoulder, reaching back to grab Harry’s hand and place it on his waist.

Harry held on tightly from then on, listening to the occasional conversation between the knights—and especially between his rider and Hermione’s. He thought the man’s voice even sounded similar, but it was difficult to tell with the unfamiliar, vaguely Celtic-sounding language he was speaking.

Still, up close, Harry thought he could see a few differences between this man and his professor that he hadn’t noticed before. He looked to be a few years younger, and was noticeably thinner and paler than their teacher; even his face was gaunter, though it could have been accentuated by his shorter hair. Maybe he was a distant ancestor. If so, that _had_ to get them extra points on this stupid research project.

Harry, Hermione and the two riders in front of them trotted together at the front of the group—which again struck Harry as odd—but he and Hermione exchanged a few hopeful looks when they heard the words “Merlin” and “Camelot” again. They still hadn’t heard anyone mention Emrys, but that seemed to be some sort of secret, so Harry couldn’t say he was surprised.

They made much better time on horseback, and it wasn’t long before they emerged from the woods to see a great citadel in the distance, the spires of a castle rising up above the surrounding trees. Could this really be Camelot, standing there before their very eyes?

The dirt road before them began to grow much clearer and wider, and the riders picked up their pace slightly so that it wasn’t much more than a half hour before they reached the gates. The guards on either side bowed their heads to acknowledge them as they passed, then they emerged into a town contained within the walls.

Stone streets were lined with little shops, houses, and vendors; people milled about all around them, some wearing drab, coarse clothing, others in colourful finery. They moved out of the way of the horses, some bowing their heads in acknowledgement, but most just went about their business. Others came up alongside Harry and the doppelgänger in particular, seemingly exchanging friendly greetings or asking questions. Who _was_ this bloke?

Past what appeared to be the main street, they trotted into a clean white courtyard just at the foot of the castle. When they reached the steps, all of them dismounted; Harry was surprised to find that he had momentary difficulty standing. A few strangers ran up to them to take the reins of some of the horses while the blond knight and his… friend? started to argue again, the latter holding the reins of the two remaining horses.

But they eventually seemed to come to some agreement, so the knight headed up the castle steps while the black-haired man led the horses in another direction. It looked as if he had abruptly remembered that the trio couldn’t understand them, because he turned back to beckon to them, pointing to what looked like another entrance to the castle.

“He’s got to be a servant, right?” Harry asked as they followed him.

“He doesn’t act like one,” said Ron.

“He must be,” said Hermione. “Look at his clothes. And he doesn’t even have any armour. Oh, look, he’s taking the horses to the stables.”

He left the horses in the hands of a few stable boys and motioned for Harry, Ron and Hermione to follow him in another direction. They entered at the base of one of the castle’s round spires, passing two more guards to ascend a spiral staircase, and from there walked down a narrow hallway. Their guide opened the wooden door and ushered them into a warm room cluttered with tables, books, potions, stray parchment, and a variety of instruments Harry didn’t particularly like the look of.

The servant called out into the room, and an old man appeared from behind a cabinet of some kind. His robe-like garment and the potions all around them might have convinced Harry he was a wizard if he didn’t already know that magic was illegal here, so practicing it inside the castle walls would most decidedly be a bad idea.

The servant spoke quickly as the old man barked questions at him, and either there was some sort of culture clash, or there were just a lot of arguments in Camelot, as that seemed to be virtually the only type of conversation going on. Eventually, the old man gruffly addressed Harry, Ron and Hermione and motioned for them to sit down at the table. The younger man crossed the room and went up the stairs into an adjacent chamber, from which he quickly emerged without his pack.

“Hang on,” said Harry. “Does he live here?”

“I think they both do,” said Hermione, indicating a small bed in the corner of the room. “He might be an apprentice.”

“An apprentice of what?” said Ron. “This looks like the Potions classroom—except, you know, less dungeon-y.”

The maybe-an-apprentice pointed at the trio while explaining something to the old man.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, and pulled one of the books out of her bag. She opened it to a random page and handed it to the old man.

“He can’t read that,” said Ron.

“I know _that_ ,” Hermione scoffed. “But there are books everywhere here, so clearly at least one of them can read—” She gestured at the two of them, who were poring over the book together— “and they’ll realise that we’re speaking a foreign language, not just gibberish or something.”

“Who cares? Not as if they can do anything about it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No, but maybe Merlin _could._ And this isn’t a very big place—if he really is here, they might be able to help us find him.”

“But magic is illegal in Camelot,” Harry pointed out. “Why would he be here? Merlin’s the most famous wizard to ever live. And if we go asking after him, that could put _us_ in danger.”

“Have you got a better idea?”

The old man interrupted them, asking a question with “Merlin” at the end.

“Too late,” said Ron.

“Yes!” said Hermione insistently. “We’re looking for Merlin. Do you know where he is?”

The younger man nodded and said something that contained “Merlin,” then kept asking them questions.

“Wait!” Ron exclaimed loudly. He stared intently at the old man, then turned to Harry and Hermione. “I think—I think they might be saying _that_ bloke is Merlin. I mean, they were going to take us to him, weren’t they? Maybe?”

“But I don’t understand!” Hermione cried. “Merlin shouldn’t even be here yet! And anyway, the Druids said magic was illegal, and that’s clearly what’s happening here.”

“Maybe it’s medicine?” Harry suggested. “I mean, Potions is just a bunch of weird herbs, really, and I think that’s what ancient medicine was, too.”

The two men were just staring at them.

“Merlin?” Harry ventured.

The young man nodded, glancing at his mentor, and both of them looked at the trio expectantly. It was at that point that Harry realised he had no idea what to do at this stage of the process.

“Show them the Time-Turner,” Ron suggested.

“But it’s dangerous!” Hermione protested.

“It’s a little late to worry about that.”

Reluctantly, Hermione pulled the tiny machine out from inside her bag, placing it gently on the table and placing her hand protectively above it for a moment to try and convey that it was dangerous. It seemed to work, because the old man peered at it intently, then slapped his apprentice’s hand away when he went to touch it. Then he spoke to him in a much quieter tone than before, gesturing at the Time-Turner. Was this really _the_ Merlin?

“Maybe try showing them the symbol you drew,” said Harry. “It might show them we’re peaceful, like the Druids said.”

“We could just show them we can use magic,” said Ron.

“And what if he isn’t Merlin?” said Hermione. “We’ll get ourselves killed. That’s probably why _he_ hasn’t used magic, either, if it is him. He doesn’t know if we can be trusted.” She unfolded the little paper from her pocket and smoothed it out on the rough surface of the table.

The young man sighed when he saw it, but the older one seemed relieved. They exchanged a few words, then the apprentice pulled up his sleeve to show them his blank wrist, motioning for them to do the same. He frowned when their arms were equally blank, then the pair of them talked some more.

The old man (Merlin?) gestured to the front door, then the door to the side room. His apprentice nodded and motioned for Harry, Ron and Hermione to follow him up the stairs. Hermione picked up the Time-Turner as they went.

The four of them entered what appeared to be a small bedroom—and a messy one. The apprentice’s pack was abandoned on the unmade bed, and various clothes, books and weapons were scattered around on the floor. The boy shut the door behind him and listened at it for a moment before turning and making a shushing motion.

Then, suddenly, his eyes quite literally lit up, turning a brief golden colour as if reflecting candlelight, and the room rearranged itself before their eyes. And they didn’t go one by one, either: all at once, clothes picked themselves up, the bed tidied itself, various objects flew into their proper places, and with only a few bumps and clanks, the room was spotless. All the while, the young man wasn’t even looking at what he was doing—instead, he rummaged under the bed for something.

When he stood, holding a large book, he searched their eyes for any negative reaction, but apparently finding none, motioned for the three of them to sit on the newly made bed. For his part, he dragged a wooden box over to sit on, and immediately started flipping through the book.

“Blimey,” said Ron as they sat. “I thought he was a Squib.”

Unsurprisingly, the man ignored them.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You can’t seriously believe this is Professor Ambrose.”

For answer, Ron gestured at him. “He looks identical!”

“They’re probably just related somehow,” said Harry. “I think he looks a bit different.”

“Are we looking at the same bloke?”

The apprentice looked up at them and uttered what must have been a spell, because his eyes glowed again. Why did they do that? He said something else, then continued to stare at them. They stared back.

He looked down at his book.

“Hang on,” said Ron. “Is he testing spells out on us?”

“He’s probably trying to figure out how to communicate with us, Ronald.”

“Well, why isn’t _Merlin_ doing that?”

The young man looked up, squinted suspiciously at them, then returned to his book.

“I’m sure he has better things to do,” said Hermione.

They watched him test out a few more spells in silence.

“This is going to take all day,” said Ron.

Downstairs, there was a sudden, thunderous roar of “MERLIN!”

The apprentice jumped; downstairs, the sound of a door closing was followed by muffled voices. The young man slammed his book shut and practically threw it under his bed, just in time to see the blond knight from earlier poke his head through the door. He was no longer wearing his armour, though his clothes still appeared nicer than those of the apprentice.

He was, however, _carrying_ his armour. He dumped the lot of it unceremoniously into the other man’s arms, half of it tumbling to the floor, and he grinned as the two of them started arguing again. They seemed to discuss Harry, Ron and Hermione for a moment, then the knight gave the three of them a polite nod before leaving.

The apprentice grumbled a bit as he put the armour on the ground as carefully as possible, then listened at the door again before moving his makeshift chair in front of it and sitting back down, blocking any further interruptions. The book zoomed into his hands, then the armour drifted into the air and started cleaning itself with some supplies that emerged from the corner of the room.

“Wow,” said Harry.


	6. Once you eliminate the improbable, whatever remains, no matter how impossible, might be the truth

“I’m not having this argument with you again,” Harry whispered. “You’re acting crazy.”

“ _I’m_ crazy?” Ron hissed. They were so close together, huddled into the tiny bed in the apprentice’s room, that Harry could feel Ron’s breath on the side of his face. “Professor Ambrose—who, by the way, is very much _not_ a Squib— is sleeping on the floor a metre away from us, you’re insisting it’s not him, and _I’m_ the one who’s crazy?” Ron tugged irritably at the scratchy blanket they were attempting to share.

“I don’t know if it’s escaped your notice, Ron, but we’re in the Middle Ages!” said Harry, yanking it back. “He looks a lot like the guy, sure, but there are a hundred explanations more plausible than that our teacher’s a thousand years old.”

“Maybe he… I dunno, figured out the secret to immortality,” said Ron. “He’s Merlin’s apprentice, after all.”

“We don’t know if he’s really Merlin,” said Harry quickly. “All we know is that they were talking about Merlin earlier—maybe they were just saying he’s not here right now.”

“Either way, it’s not impossible that he could have lived a really long time.”

Harry scoffed. “And he decides to use that ability to, what, teach at Hogwarts? Why? Besides, that’s not how immortality works. Look at Nicolas Flamel, he didn’t stop ageing when he made the Philosopher’s Stone.”

_“Shh!”_ The room’s third occupant hissed, sitting up abruptly and glaring at them before lying back down.

“Thought he was asleep,” Ron whispered.

Harry sighed. He hoped Hermione was getting more sleep downstairs than they were. The old man (who might be Merlin) had set up an extra bed for her with any spare cushions and blankets he could find after they all had dinner together. They ate a little better in the castle than they did on the road, at least, but it was certainly no Hogwarts.

~~~

Harry and Ron were shaken awake by the apprentice, already fully dressed, who motioned for them to come downstairs before dashing off again, seemingly in a hurry. The boys followed him down quickly: Hermione and the older man were at the table, eating some sort of porridge, and the apprentice was already gone.

“Where’d he go?” Harry asked.

“I think he had to work,” said Hermione. “If I understood the gestures correctly.”

“This is a nightmare,” Ron muttered.

“Less of a nightmare than it was a couple days ago,” said Harry, taking a seat beside Hermione.

Across from them, the old man was poring over the large book from yesterday, the one that had been stored under the bed, and it _still_ kept reminding Harry of something… When the old man caught him staring, he raised an eyebrow at him, disconcertingly reminiscent of Professor Ambrose—

“Wait!” Harry exclaimed, standing up again to get a better look at it. “That’s just like Ambrose’s book—remember? He had it in his office, and then on the train—”

“You’re right!” said Hermione. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize…”

“What does this _MEAN?”_ said Ron loudly.

But they didn’t find out much more about it, because that’s when the old man started grousing at them again, urging them to focus on their food and let him work in peace.

The black-haired apprentice returned not long after, carrying more armour which he deposited in his room. The old man showed him a few specific pages from the book, prompting him to test out some more spells on the trio. Evidently, nothing worked.

As he muttered to himself—something which seemed to be a habit of his—the young man flipped irritably through page after page, alternating between uttering spells and grumbling about something they couldn’t understand but which included ample use of the word “Merlin,” as well as a few sarcastic-sounding voices. It was a scene disconcertingly similar to the grumblings and riflings of his mentor just a few minutes ago, although by all appearances, he was complaining about the old man in question (assuming the man really was Merlin, which Harry couldn’t help but doubt for some reason).

But they were soon interrupted by a knock at the door: as it opened, the apprentice threw a few random books and a towel on top of the large spellbook he had been reading from, leaning unsubtly against the table to block it from view. A pretty young woman in a simple yellow dress poked her head in, and the old man stood up to usher her inside.

He handed her a small bottle, and they spoke in low tones for a moment before she gestured to the trio and the apprentice jumped in. He stood and started explaining something, then pulled her by the hand over to them. Very deliberately, he pointed to her and said slowly, “Gwen.”

“Gwen” slapped him on the arm and said something that didn’t sound as annoyed as it was clearly supposed to sound. She pointed to the trio again and said something before leaving.

The young man considered them in a way that was not especially reassuring as his friend shut the door behind her. At length, he beckoned to them and pointed to his room, but as they stood to follow, he gestured for Hermione to sit. Harry and Ron hesitated.

“It’s fine,” said Hermione. “You’ll just be in the next room, I’m sure it’s nothing dangerous.”

When they went back through the door of the side chamber, Harry and Ron both had bundles of cloth shoved into their arms.

“What’s this?” said Ron, holding up a shirt of some kind.

“Oh, right,” said Harry as he un-crumpled a not especially comfortable-looking pair of trousers. “He must want us to blend in.”

“What about Hermione?”

“Well, he doesn’t have any dresses on hand, does he?”

“S’pose not.”

The apprentice watched them with both eyebrows raised—waiting for them to figure it out, Harry supposed. He nodded; the other man nodded back, then left them to change.

~~~

The kindly girl named Gwen returned that afternoon with a dress for Hermione to wear, and though Hermione didn’t look terribly enthusiastic about it (probably due to Ron’s constant scratching ever since he’d donned the coarse borrowed clothes), when she returned from the other room, she looked quite lovely in the white and lavender dress, even if it didn’t fit perfectly.

Ron seemed to agree. He stopped grumbling for five minutes, anyway, and kept glancing at Hermione as if baffled. For her part, Hermione glared at them both once in warning, then proceeded to continue about her day as if nothing had changed.

The evening was just as uneventful as the morning, except that they did definitively determine that they were in some sort of hospital wing when a stranger wandered in with a broken arm and no one seemed to find this unusual. As the old man set about mending it, the apprentice (returning from yet another errand of some kind) took the trio back up to his room to continue testing spells. At least, that’s what Harry _really_ hoped he was doing.

Either way, after the first hour or so of nonstop trial and error, he was reading off the incantations listlessly, head resting on his hand. Ron, laying back on the bed the three of them sat on, was half-dozing at this point, while Hermione was reading the book she had brought with her for probably the fourth time.

The only sound was the apprentice’s familiar voice as he dully recited another spell.

He sighed as he flipped the page. “Pointless,” he muttered. “Don’t even know what bloody language it is, am I supposed to just magically know what to do?” He snorted to himself.

Harry straightened. Slowly, he turned to lock eyes with Hermione.

“Did you hear that?” she asked faintly.

It took a moment for the apprentice to look up from his book, eyes widening as he stared at them.

“Hold on,” he said.

“I think it worked,” Harry said weakly.

A grin spread across the young man’s face. “GAIUS!” he hollered. “It worked!”

The shout jolted Ron out of his nap and he jerked upright. “Whassgoin’ on?”

The apprentice let out a delighted laugh, and the door opened to admit the old man.

“What’s that you said?” he asked.

“I did it! I really did it! Go on, say something else,” he told the trio eagerly.

“Er,” said Harry.

“Wait, he’s _Gaius?”_ Hermione asked.

“See?” said the apprentice triumphantly. “It worked!”

“Seriously, what’s going on?” said Ron.

His mentor goggled at them. “Well done! How did you manage it?”

“Your name’s Gaius?” Harry asked.

The old man raised that familiar eyebrow. “Yes. And you are?”

“I’m Harry—"

“We thought you were Merlin,” Ron cut in. “Isn’t that what you said before?”

Still grinning, the apprentice shook his head. “No, no, this is Gaius,” he said. “ _I’m_ Merlin, I’m his nephew.”

All three stared at him. Harry’s brain was not able to absorb this, on top of everything else. Clearly, this was all a dream, and he was lying in the hospital wing right now with a serious fever. Or worse.

“You’re _what?_ ” Ron whispered.

“His nephew,” he answered matter-of-factly. _Gaius_ , meanwhile, was eyeing the lot of them with concern.

Harry pressed his palms into his eyes, willing the room to disappear, or at least rearrange itself to resemble something comprehensible. Beside him, Hermione was muttering a constant stream of, “Oh no… That’s impossible… nobody could… explains everything… he can’t be… thousand years… at _Hogwarts?”_

Gaius whacked his nephew upside the head. “All right, what did you do?”

“Ow! Nothing! It was working fine a second ago, it shouldn’t have damaged their minds or anything…”

“Give me that.” Gaius took the spellbook and frowned at the page.

“Our minds aren’t damaged!” said Hermione indignantly.

“It’s just—” Ron hesitated. “You’re _the_ Merlin?”

“What kind of a question is that?” said the apprentice, squinting at them. “Why did you keep saying my name this whole time, anyway? I don’t recognise you from anywhere…” Standing up to peer at the book over Gaius’s shoulder, he added, “Wait, maybe you’re right. Something funny must have happened, as usual.”

“Maybe he’s a different Merlin?” Harry ventured.

“But this is Camelot!” Hermione squeaked. “Isn’t it?”

Gaius eyed them. “You’re right, this is Camelot. And this is the only Merlin I’ve ever heard of. My sister—his mother—is… well, somewhat eccentric. That includes her name ideas.”

“ _You’re_ eccentric,” the boy retorted automatically.

Harry refrained from interjecting to point out that, _clearly_ , ‘Merlin’ was the worst one of the family in that regard.

“Why were you looking for me, anyway?” he added. “That is what you were saying, wasn’t it? You needed help?”

“Yeah, we did, but…” Harry shook his head. He couldn’t stop staring. Something was going on here, but his brain couldn’t seem to reconcile it.

“We were also kind of looking for…” Hermione glanced at Harry, who merely shrugged. “We were looking for Emrys?”

Gaius looked sharply at them. “Where did you hear that name?”

Hermione faltered. “Er—a Druid? We were lost and they helped us…”

‘Merlin’ sighed and sat back down. “Well, if they sent you here, it _must_ be me you’re looking for.” He glanced warily up at his uncle before continuing. “Emrys is what the Druids call me.”

“I thought Emrys was some sort of deity?” said Harry before he could stop himself.

He winced. “I’m not surprised they told you that, but I wouldn’t put too much stock in it. I’m really nothing special, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to help you. Why did they send you here?”

“Erm…” Hermione stammered for a moment. “There was a sort of… accident?”

“This is not happening,” Ron muttered under his breath.

“We—we accidentally travelled back in time,” Hermione blurted.

Gaius levelled them with Professor Ambrose’s patented raised eyebrow. Harry rubbed at the headache forming near his temple.

“Back in time,” Merlin repeated.

“How?” asked Gaius suspiciously.

“You mean… back in time to right _now_?” said Merlin.

Gaius sighed. “Yes, Merlin, obviously. More importantly—”

“So you’re from the future?”

Gaius glared at his nephew, who shrugged and shut up.

“Time travel should be impossible according to all known laws of science,” Gaius continued—adding, in a whisper, “and magic. There are few things that are immutable in this world, but time is one of them.”

Hermione started to protest, but stopped automatically when Merlin spoke up.

“But—” he said with a wary glance at the trio. “Remember when I first arrived here, when you fell off that bookcase? Didn’t I mess with time somehow when I froze everything?”

“I suppose it’s possible, though I don’t know for certain. But we already know that you are… an anomaly.”

“Thanks, Gaius.” He rolled his eyes. “All I’m saying is, weirder things have happened.”

The two of them shared a weary look, and Harry began to wonder what those things were.

“The question remains,” said Gaius eventually, “where—that is, _when_ exactly did you come from? It may be easier, depending on the circumstances, to simply wait for your… ‘present’ to arrive.”

“Oh, no,” said Harry. “Not this time.”

Hermione let out a breathy almost-laugh.

“By Hermione’s estimate,” said Ron, “we’ve travelled back over a thousand years.”

Merlin and Gaius stared at them—the former with bewilderment, and the latter with intense suspicion (and eyebrow)—until Gaius turned summarily to glare at his nephew.

Merlin frowned back. “What?”

Gaius shook his head. “This has something to do with you,” he said. “I can feel it.”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear!” Merlin groaned, and Harry was quite certain this was not the first time this argument had been had.

“And who else do you imagine could possibly be responsible for three children from a thousand years in the future stumbling into Camelot?”

Merlin crossed his arms. “Oh, so _now_ you believe them.”

Gaius sighed and, with a long-suffering look, said, “I wish I didn’t.”

Then he turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Merlin exclaimed.

“I have patients,” he said. “And you have another mess to fix before the king finds out.”

“So what you’re telling me is that I have to keep digging through these bloody books.”

Eyebrow raised, Gaius paused in the doorway. “If Arthur comes by, I’ll tell him you’re busy.”

“Literally anywhere but the tavern!” Merlin shouted down the stairs after him before closing the door. Leaning against it, he regarded the three of them wearily. “Don’t ask.”

For a long moment, Harry, Ron and Hermione all stared blankly at the skinny peasant boy; the inexplicable spitting image of their peculiar professor; the anomaly of magic who called himself Merlin.

And then Ron blurted, “Are you really Merlin?”

Merlin frowned. “Seriously, is there something wrong with my name? Why do you keep asking me that?”

“No reason!” Hermione squeaked, kicking Ron hard.

Raising his eyebrows, he said, “If you say so. What are _your_ names, anyway? You’re Ari, right?” he asked, turning to Harry.

“Harry,” he replied absently.

“Hermione Granger,” said Hermione, though it sounded more like a question.

“That’s long,” Merlin remarked. “Wait—” He half-stood. “You aren’t noble, are you? Because I—”

“No!” she said quickly. “No, I’m not. It’s—just Hermione. Yeah.”

“All right. Hermione,” he repeated carefully, and Harry got the distinct impression he was trying to work out how it could possibly be spelt.

“And I’m Ron.” Merlin seemed to be grateful for the relative shortness of that name, though he pronounced the R in a strange way when he repeated it.

It seemed that their names weren’t translated by the spell—though how any of that even worked, Harry hadn’t the faintest idea.

“Hey,” said Merlin suddenly; they all looked up hopefully. “Do you still have bread in the future?”


	7. Dragons are big

“What about horses?” Merlin asked. Then, without waiting for an answer: “What about swords?”

“Er—” said Hermione.

Merlin bumped into the table again as he exclaimed, “Oh! Have you found a way to make water hot faster?”

Gaius continued eating his breakfast quite tranquilly, barely acknowledging his nephew’s constant stream of chatter.

“Do you even need to cook anymore? Does everyone have servants? Does no one?”

“Yeah, not rea—” Ron began.

“Merlin,” said Gaius calmly. “It says here that the spell you used yesterday can only be performed with the aid of a ritual involving the tongue of a goat and a hair from each of the affected persons.”

Merlin leaned over to look at Gaius’s grimoire, open to the translation spell he had used the day before.

“Oh,” he said. “Oops.”

Gaius levelled him with a disbelieving (and exhausted) stare.

Merlin shrugged. “Erm, sorry? Guess I didn’t read it properly.”

The old man merely sighed and got up to clear away the dishes.

“You mean…” Harry frowned. “That spell shouldn’t have worked at all?”

Gaius started to speak, but huffed and gave up in favour of throwing up his arms and gesturing vaguely in Merlin’s direction.

Merlin, oblivious, continued attempting to gnaw on a rock-hard chunk of bread.

“Does the name Ambrose mean anything to you?” Hermione quickly asked him, seemingly before she could talk herself out of it.

He shook his head. “Don’t think so, why? Looking for him too?”

“No, it’s just—”

When Hermione glanced at Harry and Ron, she was met with two sets of unblinking, insistent eyes asking, _What do you think you’re playing at?_

“Erm,” said Hermione. “That is to say… No.”

“Oh. All right, then,” said Merlin, unbothered, as Harry jabbed an emphatic finger in the direction of the door, mouthing, _We need to talk._

“So about the future—” Merlin began.

Gaius cleared his throat loudly. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Frowning, Merlin said, “Training won’t be for a while yet.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow by way of reply.

“Oh, right!” Merlin hastily began gathering up his things. “That.”

When his uncle’s back was turned, Harry caught Merlin trying to lift one eyebrow up with his finger in an attempt to imitate the expression, but it wouldn’t stick.

Well, it was becoming abundantly clear where he had got that habit from. No—Harry stopped himself. He couldn’t think like that, this wasn’t Professor Ambrose…

“Coming?” Merlin asked from the doorway.

“Huh?” said Harry.

“Wait, where are we going?” said Ron, but they were already following his long, hurried strides out into the castle.

~~~

They were going to see a dragon.

A talking dragon.

Merlin did not see fit to tell them this.

When said dragon appeared, growling something to Merlin, Ron’s scream echoed through the stone cavern beneath the castle, Hermione stopped breathing for what sounded (based on her subsequent gasp) like a full thirty seconds, and Harry dropped his torch so that they were _also_ plunged into pitch darkness for those thirty seconds, Ron screamed again, and suffice it to say that a lot of things happened before two golden eyes lit up the darkness and the torch at their feet re-ignited.

Harry picked it up. He wasn’t sure if his hands were shaking because he could feel the dragon’s hot breath from here, because he was mere feet from falling into a rocky abyss, or because of the abrupt realization that you could physically _see_ the magic in Merlin’s eyes when he did magic—but either way, he blamed it on Merlin, and glared at him accordingly.

“Sorry,” said Merlin, insufficiently. “Probably should have warned you…”

“You don’t say!” said Harry.

With a deep, barely audible growl, the dragon interrupted.

“Young warlock. Why have you brought these human children into my prison?”

It could have sounded threatening. In fact, it did, a bit, but Harry got the feeling the dragon was holding back for some reason. The ‘human’ distinction did not escape Harry either, but Merlin barrelled right past it.

“The Druids sent them to me,” he said (quite conversationally, for someone who was talking to a dragon). “They said they’re from the future. Do you know how I can send them back?”

The dragon turned golden eyes on the trio; Harry did his best to hold his ground.

He sniffed them.

“They speak the truth. That is what the physician sent you here to find out, is it not?”

Harry was not at all sure how smelling them could determine such a thing, but he kept that opinion to himself.

“Leave Gaius out of it,” said Merlin. “If it’s true, then how do I send them home?”

“You cannot.”

Hermione’s sharp intake of breath was the only break in the silence as Merlin stared sceptically up at the dragon.

“This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve said that,” he replied after a moment. “If they can get _here_ , they can get back. Somehow.”

“It has never been done,” the dragon insisted. “Time travel, to so great a degree, is—"

“So time travel _is_ possible, then,” Merlin interrupted.

“Time is not the domain of the dragons,” he warned. “I might have advised you to consult a High Priestess of the Old Religion, as they alone are granted such knowledge by the Triple Goddess, but under the circumstances…” He trailed off meaningfully.

Merlin glared. “I did what I had to do.”

“You must choose your enemies wisely, young warlock. It would not do to forget that a great destiny lies ahead of you.”

Merlin shook his head. To Harry, Ron and Hermione, he said, “He doesn’t know anything. Come on, maybe one of Geoffrey’s books can help us.” He turned and strode back out of the cavern, the trio following quickly behind him.

“Remember your destiny, Merlin,” the dragon called after them. “Remember your promise.”

And with one flap of his mighty wings, he took off once more, massive chains clinking as he went.

“Was that a Great Dragon? What was he on about?” asked Ron as they were led back through the caves toward the castle.

“Don’t listen to him,” said Merlin, taking the torch from Harry to mount it back on the wall. “It’s just more of that ‘Emrys’ nonsense. He and the Druids think I’m some figure from prophecy that’s supposed to help unite Albion, meanwhile everyone in Camelot thinks I’m a bumbling idiot.” He huffed. “But really, I’m just a nobody, and I always will be.” Before Harry could fully absorb the irony of that statement, Merlin added, “We need to find someone more powerful than me, someone who knows what they’re doing…”

“I take it we _can’t_ consult any priestesses, then?” Harry asked.

Merlin sighed. “No. The last known High Priestess was Nimueh, and she’s dead.”

Uncharacteristically, he didn’t elaborate. As Merlin led them back up into the castle, Harry considered asking what had happened to her, but decided if his suspicions were correct, he didn’t really want to know. The four of them continued through the silent passages until, soon, they reached a sunlit corridor with servants, guards, and all manner of people Harry couldn’t begin to identify. Their pace increased to match those around them as they followed Merlin’s lead to navigate the busy area.

“Merlin!” someone called.

Merlin skidded to a halt and looked around to where a finely dressed woman was making her way toward them through the crowd, which parted for her as she walked. She was strikingly beautiful, made more so by the amused smile she wore and the dark blue dress that complemented her black curls. Gwen appeared from behind her, greeting them with a small wave of her hand.

“Arthur’s been bellowing your name through the halls again,” said the noblewoman, holding back a laugh. “I daresay he’s looking for you.”

_Arthur?_ Hermione mouthed, looking to Harry for confirmation.

Merlin groaned. “Thanks. I’d better get to the training grounds before he decides to start adding to my list of chores again.”

“What, aren’t you going to introduce me first?”

“Oh, sorry.”

The lady grinned as Merlin muddled about, looking harassed; he shot her an apologetic smile before explaining, “Arthur asked me to watch out for these three for the time being. They were travelling and got lost. Erm, Ron, Ari and Herm… inny? They’re from a kingdom far away across Albion. And this is the Lady Morgana, ward of King Uther—and you’ve already met Gwen, her handmaiden.”

Harry tried to keep the shock and panic off his face, but judging by Ron’s and Hermione’s expressions, he was probably just as unsuccessful as they were. Hermione, nevertheless, attempted a curtsy, so Harry and Ron followed suit with hesitant bows.

Morgana laughed again, and Harry was not sure whether that was a good or a bad sign, but she and Merlin both looked perfectly friendly—more so than a noble would typically be with a servant, as a matter of fact.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” she said kindly. “Gwen told me about you; I see you’re already adjusting well.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Merlin quickly. “We thought they were speaking a different language when we first ran into them, but it turned out to be just a really heavy accent, so we can finally communicate now that that’s sorted.” His eyes met Harry’s with a subtle nod.

That was the story they were going with? All right, then.

“I see.” Morgana shot a confused glance at Gwen, but covered it up quickly. “Oh!” she said, brightening. “Why don’t you leave them with us for a while? We can keep them out of trouble while you’re with the knights!”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Gwen agreed. “We could take them into town with us.”

Merlin looked hesitant, but not distrustful. “Well…” He glanced over his shoulder, in the direction they had been headed.

Gwen touched his sleeve. “Oh, go on, say yes.”

“All right, I suppose,” he said eventually. “It’s really not very safe down there with the knights, maces flying everywhere and that. I’ll come find you in a few hours, then?”

“Good,” said Morgana. “It’s settled.”

“You’d better hurry, Merlin,” Gwen urged him.

He glanced at the three of them once more before taking off down the corridor, leaving them with the most infamous witch in history.

Said witch smiled conspiratorially and said, “What do you say we make a quick stop at the kitchens first? I bet we could manage to sneak out a couple of sweet buns.”

“She’d probably just give them to you if you asked,” said Gwen. “You know you’re her favourite.”

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?”

~~~

Seeing Morgana Le Fay’s pickpocketing and misdirection skills in action was admittedly extremely entertaining (especially when she had to resort to tossing a sweet bun over someone’s head while their back was turned, Gwen catching it expertly), but it was not altogether reassuring. Still, Harry reasoned it would be much more suspicious to refuse the offered sweet than it would be dangerous to consume it.

“MERLIN!” someone bellowed as they descended the steps into the castle’s courtyard.

Harry was honestly beginning to wonder whether this wasn’t where the ‘taking Merlin’s name in vain’ trend had begun.

Unsurprisingly, it was once again the blond knight, who barrelled around a corner with half his armour on, still shouting.

“Arthur,” said Morgana with mock sweetness. “How lovely to see you this morning.”

“Morgana,” he replied haughtily, before noticing her other companions. “Ah. Guinevere. Hello.”

Gwen bowed her head. “Prince Arthur.”

The two of them exchanged more eye contact than was strictly necessary.

“Hang on—” Ron started to say, but Hermione stood on his foot and he chomped down on his words.

“And our guests,” Prince Arthur added when Ron’s strangled utterance drew his attention. “I trust you have been well accommodated. It’s generous of you to show them around the citadel, Morgana, even though that was meant to be _Merlin’s_ job. I don’t suppose you happen to know where the clotpole has run off to?”

“The what?”

Arthur shook his head in irritation. “I mean—nothing. One of his stupid made-up words. More importantly, have you seen him?”

“I’m afraid I held him up for a few minutes,” said Morgana. “My apologies. Last I saw, he was running off to meet you at the training grounds, where I told him you’d be.”

“Ah. Right then.” He nodded awkwardly at Gwen, then stalked off back in the other direction.

“Goodbye then!” Morgana called after him, then muttered, “Prat.”

So _that_ was King Arthur, Harry thought as they continued toward the lower town. And _this_ was Queen Guinevere, laughing with Morgana Le Fay. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, wondering when they would be able to talk privately. They certainly couldn’t do it anywhere near Morgana, no matter how kind she seemed, and probably nowhere in the open at all if Merlin’s magical abilities were meant to be a secret.

Yet, Harry saw no good reason for Morgana to have protected Merlin by offering an excuse. Merlin obviously trusted her enough to watch over the trio, so perhaps their infamous feud came about later. Harry only hoped he and his friends wouldn’t be caught in the middle of it.


	8. When you become a parent, you develop eyes in the back of your head

Somehow, the afternoon with the future Queen Guinevere and the current Lady Morgana was… fun. The trio mostly just tagged along while the two friends ambled through the cramped streets and visited merchants selling fabrics, fragrant soaps and powders, and various trinkets, but it was nevertheless—though Harry was reluctant to admit it—fascinating from a historical perspective. He was pretty sure Hermione drew her new camera halfway out of her satchel to snap a few quick photos at certain points, though he would have advised against it. He could only hope no one _else_ noticed.

But eventually, Guinevere had to return to her normal duties, so she brought Harry, Ron and Hermione with her back down to Gaius’s chambers to drop them off and pick up some sort of potion for the Lady Morgana. Harry couldn’t quite hear the low conversation between the handmaiden and the physician, but he thought he caught something about a dream.

“I’ll see you three later, then,” said Gwen with a shy smile as she started to go.

“Thank you for showing us around,” Hermione piped up.

Gaius descended on them as soon as the door closed. “Well? Did you find anything?”

“Erm,” said Harry. “The… dragon?”

Gaius nodded for him to continue.

“It knew we were from the future, but it said there was no way to send us back. Merlin argued with it.”

“Of course he did,” Gaius muttered. Then he eyed them suspiciously. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“That’s all it—”

“Not about the dragon. About the future. You haven’t stopped staring at Merlin since you arrived. Do you know something we don’t?”

Harry tried to stammer out a “no,” but Hermione took over.

“It’s nothing like that,” she said quickly. “It’s just that… well, he’s sort of legendary, where we’re from. Everyone knows his name.”

Ron looked at her like she was out of her mind for revealing such a thing, but Gaius didn’t seem as surprised as they would have expected.

Frowning, all he said was, “I thought you were from one thousand years in the future.”

“It’s probably more like fifteen hundred,” Hermione said quietly.

“Remarkable,” Gaius breathed. “I knew he would change the world, but over a thousand years and he’s still remembered… Do you know what was happening a thousand years before our time?”

They shook their heads.

Gaius raised an eyebrow. “Neither do we.”

As he returned to his potions across the room, Harry, Ron and Hermione huddled around the table for a little privacy.

“So,” said Ron. “Morgana.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but conceded, “She seems nice enough, but we have to be careful around her. I don’t know if she hasn’t turned to dark magic yet or if she’s just hiding it, but either way, we mustn’t give her anything she can use against us.”

“Or against Merlin,” Harry added.

“Do you think we should warn him?” said Ron.

“How?” said Hermione. “They’re clearly friends, and even if we thought he’d believe us, we don’t have anything concrete we can tell him. All _I’ve_ ever heard is that she tried to use dark magic against Merlin, that she probably failed, and that she had something to do with the traitor Mordred. He can’t do anything with that information.”

“Well, she clearly didn’t manage to kill him,” said Ron.

“Not this again,” Harry groaned.

Hermione glanced between them. “What?”

“Ron keeps insisting Professor Ambrose is Merlin.”

“They look identical!”

“Well,” Hermione hedged. “Not _identical_ …”

“And besides,” Ron continued, “it’s the only thing that makes sense. I mean, what’s more likely? We coincidentally discover that a) Professor Ambrose is distantly related to _the_ Merlin but somehow looks exactly like him and has a hangup about it for no particular reason, or b) Merlin’s immortal. Big surprise there.”

“The first one’s a perfectly reasonable—”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” said Harry. “Right now, what we need to do is figure out how to get home. Once we do, you can badger Professor Ambrose with questions all you want.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“King Arthur’s a bit of a git, though, isn’t he?”

“Ronald!”

“He seemed all right when we first ran into him in the forest,” said Harry. “He probably just acts a bit different in the castle, in front of all those people.”

“I suppose,” Ron shrugged. “I mean, if Morgana’s like his adopted sister, you can’t blame him for being a bit rude to her.”

Hermione elbowed him.

“What? Have you _met_ my family?”

* * *

When Merlin returned that evening, he immediately dropped half the books he was carrying.

Gaius whirled around, and the books were back in his arms, precarious as ever.

“Did you use magic _again?”_

“No,” said Merlin, the literal incarnation of magic itself.

“The door is still open!” Gaius exclaimed, ignoring the obvious lie.

The door started to close itself. Belatedly, Merlin nudged it closed with his heel.

As Gaius wandered off, muttering to himself, Merlin set the books down on the table. “Hopefully there’s something in one of these,” he said, “because if not, I’m not sure who to ask.”

“Could I help?” asked Hermione eagerly, already examining the cover of one of the larger tomes. “It looks like your translation spell works for written words, too.”

“It does?”

“Yes, but I can’t read that one.” She frowned at a particularly ancient-looking manuscript.

He flipped through it. “This is in the language of the Old Religion. Gaius has been teaching it to me… All right then, I’ll take this one and you can try the others. Might make this go a bit faster.”

“We’ll look for anything related to time manipulation,” said Hermione, passing books to Harry and Ron too—who sighed, but didn’t complain much.

“Good idea,” Merlin agreed. “And maybe if you see something about traveling long distances, we can adapt that somehow.”

“Have you created spells before, then?” Ron asked.

“Nope,” said Merlin, sitting down beside Harry. “Not on purpose, anyway.”

Of course. Accidentally inventing new spells. Why not.

* * *

By the time supper had come and gone, the five of them—now with Gaius’s help—still hadn’t managed to find anything more promising than the odd Seeing spell for divining the future, and a couple of miscellaneous memory charms.

“Now,” said Gaius eventually. “How exactly did you say you came to be here, in our time?”

“Well, there was this… ancient artefact,” Hermione decided. “In a small curiosity shop. It sort of fell off its shelf, and I don’t know what the settings were on it—it had these little hands, like a clock, you know—but in the confusion, I dropped my Time-Turner. That’s the little golden amulet I showed you earlier. It can turn back time, but it has a limit of five hours. I think the two of them interacted somehow, but the other device just sort of… disappeared.”

Merlin hummed. “Guess we’ll just have to figure it out on our own, then.”

“You’re quite skilled at time magic, it seems,” Gaius mused. “If anyone can return them to their proper time, I suspect you could manage it.”

Merlin eyed him suspiciously for a moment, which Gaius ignored.

“I don’t know why,” he replied, “but I think it has more to do with restoring the natural order than changing time itself. They’re not meant to be here. I can feel it.”

Hermione looked up in alarm. “You don’t suppose anything bad will happen because of our presence, do you?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I hope not.” He made a sound of frustration as he put another book aside.

“You seem rushed, my boy,” Gaius observed sternly.

“Oh, yeah, I have to go with Arthur to eject some bandits from a nearby village tomorrow. Uther’s only sending him because it’s an important trade town or something, but we won’t be back until nightfall, and that’s if we’re lucky.”

“Can we come with you?” said Ron eagerly.

“Out of the question!” said Gaius.

“Yeah, it’s boring, anyway,” Merlin agreed. “Mostly just riding all day, threatening a few bandits, maybe a skirmish, then turning around and coming right back. But if I don’t go, Arthur will go and get himself nearly killed again somehow. He always does.”

“Arthur is a knight,” said Gaius. “He can take care of himself.”

Merlin gave him a dubious look that was strikingly familiar, even without the eyebrow.

Gaius turned to the trio instead. “I don’t suppose you have any other useful magical devices on you that could help us?”

“Only our wands,” said Harry, pulling his out from where he had hidden it in his sock.

“Well…” said Hermione, rummaging for her camera. “And this.”

“What are those?” Merlin was looking at them both with equal puzzlement.

“This is just for casting spells,” said Harry. “Most people have them in the future—it just makes things easier.”

He noticed for the first time that his wand seemed to want to veer slightly towards Merlin, though it stayed firm in his grip. _Like a compass_ , his mind whispered.

“And that?”

Hermione turned on the camera. “It isn’t magic, exactly. It sort of… takes a copy of whatever you point it at. Here, I’ll just show you.”

She leaned back, eyes fixed on the screen, to take a photo of all of them together at the table.

“Is it dangerous?” asked Gaius warily.

“No. You’ll just hear a click, and you might see a flash.”

It was done before she finished talking, and she turned the device around to show them the screen.

“Wha—” Merlin squinted at it. “That’s us!”

“Is it some sort of automatic portrait?” Gaius guessed, putting on his glasses to get a better look.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Hermione agreed. “Normally you would print them, but… oh, never mind.”

“Could I see that?” Merlin asked.

She handed it over gently. “Just don’t push any buttons, or the picture might go away.”

“Are you quite certain this isn’t sorcery?” said Gaius.

“It’s Muggle sorcery,” Ron tried to explain.

“Ronald… that’s not going to help them at all.”

“You might as well think of it as magic,” said Harry. “At this point, it barely makes a difference.”

“I wonder if I could learn to do that,” Merlin muttered as he handed the camera back to Hermione.

“One thing at a time,” said Gaius.


	9. Sometimes, it’s worth remembering that the human brain can’t actually multitask

Even after just a few days in Camelot, Gaius’s chambers felt so safe and familiar that it was easy to forget that just beyond the door lay a castle full of suspicion and fear. Gaius was quick to remind them that morning that the merest hint of magic could get all three of them sent to the pyre: children younger than them had been executed before. And with Merlin gone, departed before dawn that morning, there was little chance of them mysteriously “escaping” as so many others had done in recent years.

“Why are you telling us this?” Harry asked. “Do you think something’s going to happen?”

“I say this because strange things happen around Merlin,” Gaius answered. “Miraculous things. With him gone, you must be especially careful to avoid suspicion.” After a moment, he added, “Especially since we all must gather to hear an announcement from the king this morning.”

“King _Uther?”_ Ron exclaimed.

“I’m afraid so.”

Harry didn’t like the look on Ron’s face. “Is—is that bad?”

“He only started the Great Purge!”

Gaius looked up from his herbs, eyeing Ron with grudging approval. “That is true. After conquering Camelot, he set out to rid it of sorcery, which he believed to be inherently evil. He started out by capturing and executing the High Priestesses and the most powerful sorcerers, then the dragonlords and their dragons—all except one, as you have seen—and he even went after the Druids.”

“We learned about that in school,” said Hermione. “Professor Ambrose said it was the first attempt at a magical genocide.”

“Indeed,” said Gaius, “I’ve always said the same thing. But I am heartened to know that the future has not forgotten it. Did this professor also tell you the legend of Emrys, prophesised to emerge after the Purge?”

They shook their heads. Harry was sure he’d never heard the professor mention an “Emrys” before, and he certainly had avoided discussing Merlin as much as possible (for reasons that were becoming increasingly suspect).

“The Old Religion is based, at its most essential, on balance,” Gaius began. “So, when the Purge quickly eradicated a vast amount of magic from the world, the balance had to be righted. The Druids foretold that a being _made_ of magic would be born, the first one in existence. Priests and priestesses, unicorns and dragons, and all creatures of magic would honour him, because he would be a true incarnation of magic itself in our mortal world.”

“And that’s Merlin?” Ron whispered.

“How do you know it’s him?” Hermione asked.

“I didn’t, at first.” Gaius continued grinding herbs in his mortar as he spoke. “I only knew he was very powerful—impossibly so, as he saved my life by performing magic I had never been able to master, and he did so without ever having been taught about magic, or having seen a spell at all.”

“What did he do?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Well, he startled me, and I fell from the balcony up there.” Gaius pointed to a bookshelf near the ceiling. “But before I hit the floor, he stopped time and moved a bed across the room for me to land on—all without a single spell, mind you.”

“He did both at the same time?” said Hermione.

“Evidently. When I pushed him to explain it, he said that he had been born with magic. I didn’t believe him at first, since it was thought to be impossible, but… well. It became clear that Emrys wasn’t just a myth when the Druids first started approaching him. Somehow, they are able to recognise him on sight. But the prophecies are somewhat less clear on the Once and Future King, the ruler who is meant to bring magic back to the land with Emrys’s help. Some say it is Emrys’s duty to choose this ruler, thereby _making_ him the Once and Future King.”

“I know about that story,” said Harry. “But I thought it was always meant to be King Arthur.”

“Maybe it was,” said Gaius. “Who can tell? But it would be fitting. Some say that King Uther’s lack of mercy for magical children was because he knew of the prophecy and wished to prevent the coming of the child Emrys, when in reality, it was his genocide that brought him into being in the first place. For it to be his own son that reunites the magical and non-magical peoples…”

“Does Arthur know any of this?” Harry asked.

“He knows none of it, and we must not tell him. His father taught him to hate and fear all magic and those who practice it, and he will not give up those beliefs so easily.”

“I think he did, eventually,” said Hermione. “He must have, for Camelot to have become the first magical settlement.”

“I hope you are right,” said Gaius.

They sat in troubled silence for a time, but it wasn’t long before the trumpets sounded outside, calling the people to listen to the king’s announcement.

The four of them stood and filed through the door out into the hall, where staff and townspeople were crowding to the right, out into the square, while the various nobles and remaining knights trailed through the castle to the left. Gaius led Harry, Ron and Hermione into the small crowd of people gathered below King Uther’s balcony.

“No pyre today,” he remarked, voice carefully neutral, but the trio relaxed incrementally.

The crowd was looking quietly up at the small collection of figures on the balcony: all wore chainmail, with scarlet capes brighter than anything else in their field of vision—anything, that is, save the velvet green of Morgana’s dress as she stood behind the king, half in shadow. For it was immediately obvious, even to Harry, who among them was king.

Uther watched them silently for the briefest of moments, and Harry fought the urge to look away lest he accidentally catch his eye. The king was not the tallest of men, nor was he the handsomest, but even from here, Harry was intimidated by his pale eyes and grim visage, hard as if it had been carved from granite. His crown was weighty but plain, the steel-grey hair underneath shorn close in a distinctly utilitarian fashion.

The king raised his hand for silence.

He began without preamble, and his voice rang clearly through the courtyard. “Camelot has prospered in the years since the eradication of magic in this kingdom. The people must live in fear no longer, free to live, raise children and work unimpeded. Finally, we can begin to invest in our future. Together, we can build the homes, roads and cities that we have always wished for: to protect our families; to import and export everything we could ever need; to live in lasting peace and prosperity…”

Harry concentrated on King Uther’s speech harder than any other he had heard, fearing vaguely for his fate if he didn’t. Still, he found his mind drifting; for what felt like the first time, it began to fully sink in that he was truly in the distant past, the sixth century A.D., as he stood in a medieval citadel with a crowd of peasants, farmers, and servants pressing against him on all sides, looking up at a man that could have him killed on a whim. He felt a vague sense of hopelessness, of inevitability, upon realising that he could do nothing to stop what was to come. Even if he had enough historical knowledge to help bring Uther down, he had neither the tactics nor the magical strength to do anything about it. He was no Merlin.

Harry’s attention snapped back to the king when he felt the people around him beginning to shift as if preparing for the end of the speech. “It is the people of Camelot that have made it the mighty kingdom it is today, and it is the people of Camelot who will prosper from its wealth, peace and protection. Let the new age of Camelot begin!”

By the time the normal noise of the square picked up once more, the king had already disappeared from view.

“Well,” said Ron in a low voice, “ _he’s_ terrifying.”

Harry nodded in agreement, unable to say much else.

“Did you catch anything he said?” Ron asked Hermione as they moved back in the direction of the physician’s chambers.

“Honestly, you two,” she sighed. “He talked around it a lot, but he’s definitely going to be raising taxes due to the recent ‘prosperity.’ Supposedly, he’ll use it for infrastructure, but who knows if that’s true.”

“I didn’t hear him mention taxes,” said Ron.

“I think that was by design,” Harry replied.

* * *

Harry, Ron and Hermione spent that afternoon sifting through what books they could read (unsuccessfully), helping Gaius prepare medicines and organise things (passably), and praying the King Uther would not see fit to pay them a visit.

By that evening, the only thing they had really accomplished had been whittling down the number of books on the table by virtue of deeming them useless in their particular predicament. They took turns going upstairs to hide the books they had set aside under the loose floorboard that Gaius showed them, hiding them away until Merlin could sneak them back into the royal library, the vaults, or wherever he had nicked them from in the first place.

Progress slowed as night began to fall, and Gaius began to heavy-handedly hint that they should all get some rest. Hermione, deep in her books, barely took notice of anything happening around her, but Ron was nearly dozing and Harry’s eyes were starting to sting. He took his glasses off for a moment to rub at them, but that only made it worse.

Eventually, Gaius got sufficiently sick of the head-nodding, nearly-snoring, and lack of page-turning to order them all up to bed in a tone that allowed for no argument. Hermione, as usual, stayed downstairs while the boys trudged up to Merlin’s room, fully expecting to be rudely awoken shortly when Merlin stumbled clumsily through the door and inevitably tripped over something.

* * *

Harry jolted awake. Beside him, Ron snorted in his sleep. Harry sat up slowly, thoughts muddled, as he tried to puzzle out that vague sense one sometimes has that some loud noise has interrupted one’s slumber. Eyes wide open in the hazy blackness, he froze in place and listened with all his might.

Yes: somewhere downstairs, there was a muffled cacophony of shuffling and clanging and low but urgent voices. And it was getting louder. Harry scrambled out of bed, untangling himself from the blanket and jostling Ron awake in the process.

“Whassgoin—"

They both jumped when they heard the front door clatter open as if kicked in.

Through the bedroom door, they heard Gaius exclaim, “What on earth—”

There was a too-long pause, and then he said, voice sounding strained, “Merlin?”

Harry cracked the door open and peered into the physician’s chamber, where Gaius was lighting lamps while Hermione stared uneasily across the room. When she caught Harry’s eye, she beckoned to him. Opening the door wider, Harry and Ron stepped out into the light to discover a half-dozen knights crowding into the room, amour scraping as they talked urgently over one another. They made way for Prince Arthur and another knight with light-coloured hair, and it was only then that Harry realised they were carrying someone.

“He’s been stabbed,” said Arthur quickly. “Where can I put him?”

“Here.” Gaius helped them over to his cot, already pulling out bandages and plants and salves.

Harry noted absently that there was a trail of dark, heavy blood droplets on the floor.

Arthur laid the unconscious boy down as gently as he could manage. Blood was staining Merlin’s tunic, and it left a dark streak on the prince’s armour. Another of the knights helped him remove the ruined shirt while the rest stood around silently, much like Harry, Ron and Hermione.

“He’s lost a lot of blood, Gaius,” said Arthur as he gently unpeeled the filthy makeshift bandages from around Merlin’s pale and protruding ribs.

Harry wasn’t sure what the coppery smell in the air was, but he knew it wasn’t good.

The wound still bled slowly as Gaius rushed to clean it and spread a pot of salve over the surface before re-bandaging. “Knife?” he asked.

“Sword,” said Arthur. “They had a sorcerer we didn’t know about, and while Merlin was trying to distract him, one of the bandits attacked him from the other side. Leon,” he added, turning to the knight that had helped him before, “I need you to bring more water, as much as you can carry. The rest of you, get your armour off and get some rest for now.”

“Yes, sire,” they said quietly, all of them shuffling off in different directions.

Harry, Ron and Hermione crept forward into the space left by the knights, and by the way they stared blankly and wide-eyed, Harry guessed that his friends were feeling the same sense of unreality that he was. Arthur jolted almost imperceptibly when they approached, as if having forgotten they were there, but continued watching Gaius add layers to a clean bandage.

“Moving him must have re-opened the wound,” Gaius muttered. “Still, he hasn’t lost too much blood—I can’t determine why he’s unconscious.”

“Could it be a poisoned blade?” Arthur asked, then hissed in frustration. “I should have brought it with me—it didn’t cross my mind.”

“It’s possible, sire, but as of now, I cannot tell for certain.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Gaius sighed. “I’m afraid not. I shall add more herbs to counteract the most common poisons. In the meantime, we must simply wait and ensure the wound does not become infected.”

Arthur nodded. After a moment, he said, “It’s almost dawn. I must report to my father. I will return as soon as I am able.”

“Of course, sire,” said Gaius absently, pulling various bottles from his round medicine bag.

“How can we help?” asked Harry when he regained his voice.

Gaius glanced at the door as it shut behind Arthur. He hesitated. “There might be a spell to identify the poison or enchantment—anything that could cause his catatonic state.”

Hermione started pulling books back out of the cabinet, where she had apparently had the presence of mind to hide them before the knights had a chance to see them.

“You’d better do it in Merlin’s room,” said Gaius. “Arthur will be back soon.”

They nodded, not wanting to break the solemn silence, and left quickly.


	10. The mind has a tendency to get in its own way

Arthur returned to the physician’s chambers before the sun had fully risen, and had hardly moved since. He sat beside Merlin for hours; when he wasn’t helping Gaius with salves or bandages, he was staring off into space or talking in low voices with Gwen, who had rushed down to Gaius’s chambers as soon as she heard what had happened. After blinking back tears at the sight of the boy’s pale, limp body, she had returned as often as her duties would allow to help Gaius prepare the various potions he was drawing up.

Harry, Ron and Hermione, having failed to find anything remotely medical in the largely time-related books Merlin had brought, had returned to the main room to help in any way they could. When Gwen had to return to work, they took over for her preparing herbs and potions.

Eventually, Arthur, unable to contain his nervous energy any longer, volunteered to visit Geoffrey and see if he had any relevant information, leaving Gaius free to perform a few basic healing spells.

“I confess I have forgotten most of my skills over decades of disuse,” he sighed when there was no discernible effect. He took Arthur’s chair and brushed Merlin’s damp fringe back from his forehead.

“Could—” Hermione ventured. “Could I try? I’m no expert, but I know a few spells to speed up the healing process. It’s not much, but…”

“I suppose you may as well try,” said Gaius. “But we must be careful. Don’t do so much that you exhaust yourself. And Ari, could you watch the door and warn us if anyone approaches?”

Harry, by now used to how they pronounced his name, nodded and opened the front door a crack in order to peer out into the hall.

“It’s clear for now,” he said. “Hermione, you might try enchanting some of those salves and potions to enhance their potency.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “that’s a good idea.”

Her wand trembled slightly as she drew it from her bag, but her voice was firm and clear when she started her spellwork. Harry only recognised a few of them; but even with the number of useful spells she had memorised, nothing seemed to have any visible effect.

“I believe his slight fever may have weakened,” Gaius said as he re-examined him. “It’s difficult to say. But that’s progress, at the very least. Thank you.”

Hermione nodded, lips pressed tightly together. She turned to put her wand away, but stopped mid-stride.

“What is it?” Ron asked.

Hermione frowned. “I can’t—”

She stumbled backward as if shoved—or pulled. As Harry watched, her wand drifted vaguely in Merlin’s direction, much like Harry’s had.

“What…?” She fought against the pull of her wand, though she seemed more curious than frightened.

“Oh.” Gaius grimaced when he took notice of her predicament. “I must apologise for him; he’s much more forceful when he’s unconscious. I _had_ hoped this wouldn’t happen.”

“You don’t mean… _he’s_ doing this?” said Hermione, glancing warily at Merlin.

“I’m afraid it’s very likely. The last time he was in this dire a state, he helped lead Prince Arthur to the flower that would cure him, and he was milesaway at the time. He didn’t even wake up. I had thought it might be the fever at work, but evidently not.”

“Great,” Harry muttered, peering out the door again.

“It may not be so bad, as long as we can keep the others away from him,” said Gaius. “Frankly, Merlin is a better physician in his sleep than he is while awake.”

“Well, why does he want my wand?” asked Hermione, still tugging on it.

“It’s probably the magic he wants,” Ron observed.

Gaius nodded. “I am inclined to agree. Though, if that is the case—” He stopped short.

Harry looked up. “What is it?”

“Perhaps that is why your spells had little effect,” Gaius murmured. “I believe he may have absorbed the magic itself rather than allowing the spell to take effect.”

“Well, that means magic will cure him then, right?” said Hermione.

“Yes and no. This reaction also implies that he could be afflicted with a magic-draining poison or spell. With any normal sorcerer, the magic would have been depleted by now.”

“S’pose we’re lucky, then,” Ron remarked.

“Not entirely. If Merlin was truly created from magic—which I believe to be true—then this sort of poison could be fatal if we cannot stop it.”

“Of course,” said Hermione quietly. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“What do we do?” said Ron, his voice going reedy.

Without warning, something crashed to the ground behind them. They all whirled around to discover a glass jar with thin, dried leaves lying smashed on the stone floor.

“Well,” said Gaius, “we could start there.” He picked the leaves carefully out of the mess. “These are the leaves of the calendula plant. They have been used in the past to enhance magical abilities. Normally, I would not have thought to use them in such a way, but…” He gestured to the unconscious boy. “Merlin seems to think it’s a good idea.”

Hermione nodded decisively. “I’ll keep casting spells, then.”

“I’ll help,” said Ron, pulling out his own wand.

“Let me know when you need to rest and we can trade,” said Harry. “I’d better stay here if we don’t want the prince walking in on us.”

* * *

Fortunately, someone must have roped Arthur into doing his princely duties, because they didn’t see him again for quite some time.

Meanwhile, Harry, Hermione and Gaius were trying and failing to wrangle the galaxy floating around the physician’s chambers, as the still unconscious Merlin had apparently seen fit to cause an entire sky-full of miniature stars, planets and nebulae to burst to life in midair throughout the room, all of which were now floating gently, slowly rotating and flickering with an infinite variety of different hues of soft light.

At first, Gaius had tried waving a broom around to swat the tiny pinpricks of stars away like flies, but they just drifted back to their original position after a while. Hermione quickly discovered that she could pluck a tiny planet out of the air to hold it in her hand, so the four of them set about picking up the stars individually, which is how Harry ended up with a pocket full of warm, glowing stars and a sprinkling of glittering nebula dust in his hair. When Ron pointed it out, he brushed it off and tried to gather most of it in a bottle in case it could somehow come in handy later.

Ron sneezed.

By now, at least the area nearest the door was empty, despite the stubborn celestial bodies that kept floating lazily up out of Harry’s pockets to go back where they belonged.

“It _is_ beautiful,” said Hermione sadly as she sifted through the handful of blue, white and yellow stars gathered like glowing marbles in her hand.

“Hey, look,” said Ron, pointing in the direction of the broom cupboard. “Is that Sagittarius?”

Even as he spoke, thin filaments of glowing light stretched between a few of the stars, forming the shape of a centaur and his bow. The gossamer figure pulled his arm back and let loose an arrow, sending a shooting star rocketing across the room.

Harry laughed despite himself. Around them, other constellations came to life: Ursa Major reared up on its hind legs and opened its maw in a silent roar, Taurus pawed at the air beneath its feet and prepared to charge, Leo shook out its glowing mane, and one of the Gemini slung his arm over his brother’s shoulder as they looked on.

Gaius hummed. “Evidently he _has_ been reading that astronomy book I gave him.”

“I wonder if he heard you, Ron,” said Harry. “When you mentioned Sagittarius.”

“Perhaps on a subconscious level,” Gaius mused. “His magic has always been more aware of its surroundings than he has himself.”

“Erm, Merlin?” Hermione ventured. “The stars are very pretty, but Arthur could come back at any moment… Could you help us get rid of them before he sees?”

Nothing happened for a moment. Then, slowly, almost sadly, all of the little lights started to dim, absorbing the tiny dots that were their planets, and the stardust and nebulae dissolved into the air, leaving the room empty once more.

“Ah,” said Gaius.

* * *

From then on, the four of them took to preventing magical mishaps simply by saying, “Merlin, stop moving the chairs around,” or “Merlin, put down all the bloody flagstones, where did you even get those,” or “Merlin, can we keep water in containers and not free-floating about the room, please, I’d rather not drown unexpectedly in my own sitting room,” or “Merlin, for god’s sake stop opening and closing all the cabinets.”

In this fashion, they managed to get the situation mostly under control by the time Gwen returned with a bundle of herbs and flowers on top of her basket of linens. After handing them to Gaius, she immediately started wringing her hands again.

“I gathered a few things while I was out that I thought might be useful,” she explained softly. “To prevent infection and to try and slow the poison. You haven’t figured out exactly what it is yet, then?”

“Thank you, Gwen. No, I’m afraid not. The best I can do for now is try to help him recover on his own. When Prince Arthur comes back, I may have a few more questions for him.”

She grimaced. “Oh, he feels just awful, I’m sure. He’s been harder on his men today, and hardly ate any of what George brought him. Oh, that reminds me.” She turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione, who had sat back down at the table to mix potions and look through medical texts. “I’ve brought some pies from the kitchen for you,” she said, unfolding the paper of a steaming parcel to uncover four handpies. “I hope you don’t mind—I thought you wouldn’t have the time, being so busy…”

“Not at all,” said Gaius. “That’s very thoughtful, Gwen, thank you.”

“Thanks,” said Harry when she handed him one, suddenly remembering how hungry he was. “How did you manage to get them?”

“I just told the head chef they were for Merlin’s friends,” she said with a soft smile. “She acts tough, but she’s as fond of him as everyone else is. I haven’t stopped getting questions about how he is all morning. I wish I could give them better news.”

“So do I,” said Harry. “He seems stable for now, but he hasn’t been getting any better.”

Gwen made a discontented noise, sitting down beside him as she nervously folded and unfolded a corner of one of the shirts in her basket. Harry just munched quietly, watching as Gaius bustled about the room, re-checking potions, rereading pages from books, and reorganising his supplies in an effort to stumble upon something useful. He left his pie untouched in its wrapping.

“Lady Morgana asked me to let her know how he was doing,” Gwen sighed, “but I don’t want to return to her with more bad news.”

“Are they friends?” Harry asked.

She nodded. “I’d say so. I know she cares about him, anyway. But I know him better than she does. He has such a good heart…”

When he saw her face fall once more, Harry said, with as much confidence as he could muster, “He’ll be all right. I’m sure of it.”

Gwen let out a watery chuckle. “Maybe you’re right. It wouldn’t be the first time he survived something like this.”

Harry looked at her sidelong, but before he could decide whether to ask about it, there was a sharp rap at the door.

It opened just as they turned to look, and a weary-looking Prince Arthur strode in and shut the door behind him. Gwen hurried to stand up, Harry awkwardly following suit.

“Oh,” said Arthur, stopping short. “Hello, Guinevere.”

“My lord,” she replied, bowing her head as she passed by him to get to the door.

“I hope I’m not interrupting—”

“No, sire, of course not,” she said hurriedly. “Only, I must be getting back…”

“Yes, of course.” He stared at the door for a second after it had closed behind her. “Hello again,” he said, turning to the trio. “I apologise for my intrusion last night, I hope I didn’t disturb your sleep overmuch.”

“No, sir,” said Ron quickly. “I mean, sire.”

“I’m afraid his condition is much the same as when you were last here, my lord,” said Gaius, pulling Arthur’s attention away from them. He rushed to grab a mortar and pestle that were moving of their own accord, handing them to Ron before Arthur could notice anything was amiss.

“He hasn’t woken at all?” the prince asked, moving to stand closer to his friend.

“I’m afraid not, sire. Did you or any of your knights perhaps see a vial of poison or witness what spell the sorcerer you spoke of may have performed?”

“I was too focused on getting Merlin back,” Arthur admitted. “But I shall question my men. It is possible one of them saw something they didn’t realise would be important. In fact—” He turned quickly on his heel. “I should go right away, now that you have suggested it. Some of the knights have an unfortunate tendency to take things from our enemies and sell them in town.”

“Yes, sire. And Arthur—thank you for all your help.”

The prince glanced back, but didn’t meet their eyes. “There’s no need. Merlin is my responsibility.”

And with that, he was gone.


	11. When attempting murder, it is generally prudent to double-check your results

The magical chaos only intensified in the evening as Merlin’s condition deteriorated. It seemed to lash out as it poured haphazardly from his body, scattering books and papers everywhere, sending objects flying across the room any time Merlin made a weak, mumbling sound, and causing the air temperature to rise and fall rapidly.

After another fruitless round of research, Ron and Hermione gathered up all of the remaining magical books to hide them once again in Merlin’s room; Harry was back on door duty until Gaius could convince Merlin to stop brightening the lanterns.

He jumped when Ron dropped one of the books.

“Sorry,” said Ron, struggling to pick it up without dropping any more.

“I’ll get it,” said Hermione, balancing her collection with practised expertise as she bent down to retrieve it.

They hadn’t gone more than two steps before the same book fell to the floor again with a resounding _smack_. When Hermione reached for it again, it slid away of its own accord, scraping across the stone floor.

“I guess we missed something in there?” said Ron.

“I’ll look through it again,” said Harry, closing the door and gesturing for Ron and Hermione to continue upstairs.

It wasn’t one he had read before, as the vocabulary had seemed more up Hermione’s street, but he leafed through it, skimming the section headings in the hope that something would jump out at him.

He was jolted abruptly out of his reading some minutes later when Gaius set three bowls of soup on the table.

“Eat,” he said as Ron and Hermione joined Harry at the table. “It’s late already—wouldn’t want you going to bed with an empty stomach.”

“We can’t sleep!” Ron protested. “He’s getting weaker, we have to help him!”

“I am the physician here,” said Gaius sternly. “You are young and need your rest. For now, eat.”

They didn’t argue further for the time being, apart from a bit of tired grumbling. Harry tried to ignore how uneasy the rising temperature made him. Merlin was growing colder.

They ate and washed up in silence while Gaius puttered restlessly about the room, neglecting to take his own advice and eat something. Having given Merlin any and all restorative potions in his stores that weren’t likely to have lethal interactions, he had moved on to creating concoctions involving any herbs even tangentially related to magic. It seemed that he was only barely managing to replenish the power that was positively leaking out of the boy like blood as he tossed and turned, throwing the world around him into matching turmoil as the escaping magic acted almost at random.

Harry suspected that the storm brewing outside was not a coincidence. It was strange weather, heavy with electricity but bringing no rain—only dark, fast-moving storm clouds and violent bouts of wind which soon transformed into a gale that howled at the walls of the castle.

The flames housed in the hearth and trapped within the lanterns continued to flicker dangerously despite being sheltered from the storm, and sometimes Harry could swear that they formed discrete shapes as they sputtered and shifted in hue: a horse rearing up atop a melting candle, a dozen hazy figures battling and raging in the fire, a little flame inside a lantern that fluttered slowly from side to side like turning the pages of a book.

Harry turned the page of his own book, the tome of elemental magic that Merlin had prevented them from taking away.

“Huh,” he muttered when a passage on the next page struck him as vaguely familiar.

“Did you find something?” asked Hermione eagerly.

“What?” He looked up. “Oh, no, sorry. It’s just this paragraph here, about ways to banish magical creatures. It talks about sending them back to where they belong. You know—because it’s easier to return them to their home than to kill them or forcibly send them away. It just reminded me of what Merlin was saying the other day about—”

“Restoring the natural order!” Hermione exclaimed. “That’s right, he said we were out of our proper time, so he needed to fix the balance of the world. That must be what he wanted us to see!” She switched seats so she and Harry could read the page together.

“Yeah,” said Ron quietly, “but that doesn’t tell us how to help _Merlin_.”

They instinctively looked to Merlin to help, but of course he didn’t wake. He didn’t even move, which worried Harry. Despite how troubling his flailing and thrashing had been that afternoon when his magic was reaching out wildly, barely under his control, this uncharacteristic stillness was worse. And nothing had fallen off shelves, rattled loudly, or floated in mid-air for some time.

It was so quiet, in fact, that the sudden, perfunctory knock at the door before it opened startled everyone but Gaius, who was still busy re-applying salves to Merlin’s wound. Harry quickly shoved the magic book into a nearby cabinet.

“Gaius,” Arthur panted. He slammed a sheathed dagger onto the table. “He may still be saved.”

The physician moved quickly as Arthur spoke. “One of my men pilfered this dagger from the same bandit that stabbed Merlin. I believe it may have been treated with the same poison, especially given the strange lock on its sheath.” With his thumb, he flicked the small metal band open. “It would prevent him from drawing it without meaning to.”

Gaius immediately started gathering various bottles and pouring their contents into a beaker-like jar. “This may just work, sire. I know of a solution to distil poison drawn from a blade; I can only hope there is enough of it here. I should be able to create an antidote from there, but it is difficult to tell how long that process might take…”

He carefully drew the knife from its sheath, stirred it once in the clear solution, then left it sitting in the beaker, careful not to let it tip over. They all watched intently, waiting, hardly even breathing into the silence—and then, slowly, barely perceptible at first, the blade seemed to leak a greyish, almost purple fluid. The colour drifted and swirled slowly through the beaker until the entire solution was tinged a deep violet.

Gaius stirred the dagger once more for good measure, then removed it carefully and laid it out upon a rag. “Don’t touch it,” he warned them. “It could still be dangerous.”

With steady hands, he measured a few spoonfuls of the dark liquid into another beaker and started testing it, placing it over a flame to heat as he added a few pinches of various powders that caused it to bubble and foam briefly.

“At this point, it is mostly guesswork,” said Gaius without looking up. “I will test for what I judge to be the most likely types of poisons first, but ultimately, I must hope to stumble upon the correct antidote.”

“Then I shall leave you to it,” said Arthur. “I’ll watch over Merlin in the meantime.”

“Sire, there is no need—”

“There is most certainly a need.” He paused. “Don’t worry, Gaius. You’ll find the antidote.”

The prince sat beside Merlin again, checking the bandages. The worst of the bleeding was over, they already knew, but the poison was still eating away at the magic inside him. Harry was probably sufficiently recharged to start casting more spells on Merlin in an effort to improve his condition, but they couldn’t do it with Arthur there.

The unnerving silence didn’t last for long. The waning storm outside kicked up again with a sudden CRACK of thunder as Merlin’s magic started to lash out violently, with no cause that Harry could identify. He worried that the magic would deplete itself even more quickly if it continued to act wildly like this. Prince Arthur, however, barely acknowledged the strange weather, even when wind started to swirl inside the closed room, scattering loose parchment and medical paraphernalia everywhere. Hermione, in a fit of inspiration, rushed over to the door, opened it, and slammed it closed, acting as if the wind had blown it open. Arthur hardly looked up, merely pulling Merlin’s blanket back up around his shoulders.

But even as they set about gathering up the mess—trying not to disturb Gaius as he worked—the entire room started to shake, causing several bottles and instruments to fall off of shelves and tables. Books fell off of bookcases, flipping through their own pages rapidly before slamming shut, doors rattled in their frames, and a low rumbling sound made Harry worry for the integrity of the castle walls. Still, it was over quickly, and silence reigned once more.

“Merely an earthquake, sire,” said Gaius without looking up from his vials.

Arthur looked up vaguely and shrugged. “Right. The knights will let me know if there is any real danger,” he muttered.

Gaius exhaled sharply and set down his instruments with a clack.

“I’m going to give him the most common antidotes,” he said decisively, ignoring the mess on the floor and rushing across the room with three old bottles from his medicine bag. “I feared how they might interact with one another, but we are running out of time. If there are side effects, I must simply deal with them when it comes to that.”

After administering two orally and one topically, he left the bottles beside the bed and returned to his tests as Arthur looked on.

“I have no doubt that you will find the right one, Gaius,” Arthur murmured, barely even attempting to sound confident in his assertion.

A _thump_ broke the silence, emanating from the direction of Merlin’s room. Arthur glanced at the trio, and discovering no one was missing, they all looked over to the door.

“Probably just an aftershock,” said Harry quickly, and ran up the stairs before Arthur could get up to investigate.

There was another _thump_.

Harry opened the door carefully, having no idea which inanimate object had decided to come to life on the other side. Seeing no immediate danger, he widened it just enough to slip inside and shut it behind him. The small window had blown open, and moonlight illuminated the room in a hazy, colourless way. Nothing seemed to be amiss. Harry stepped forward—but then there was something under his shoe, squirming and trying to twist itself free. He jumped back.

Peering down at the darkened floor, he saw only something small and fuzzy… and unmoving. He picked it up warily; but it was only a rabbit’s foot, normal as far as Harry could tell. Merlin must have wanted it for some reason.

Well, far be it from him to question the superstitions of a man who was himself a mythological figure.

Harry returned downstairs with the excuse that “a book fell” and returned to Merlin’s side. He ignored Prince Arthur’s gaze on him and took Merlin’s hand in his, placing the amulet in his palm and curling his limp fingers around it.

“Thought he might like to have it,” said Harry quietly.

Arthur nodded soberly. He didn’t poke fun at his manservant this time. Harry almost wished he would.

Harry sat beside Ron and Hermione where they could watch Gaius. He felt suddenly quite tired.

Gaius shook his head, putting another potential antidote aside. It was now the seventh in a row of small, violet-filled vials. With practised efficiency, he moved to start another test—then stopped short. His sleeve pulled on his arm, as if caught on something invisible. He frowned.

Then something tugged on his sleeve again. Eyes widening, Gaius whirled around to look at Merlin. Paler than ever, he had stopped struggling to free himself of the blankets. Gaius rushed over to examine him again. At the same time, Arthur stood up abruptly.

“Gaius. His lips are blue.”

The physician listened to Merlin’s chest.

“Gaius.”

“He’s hardly breathing.” He dug quickly through his medicine bag as he spoke. “Perhaps if I could—”

Darkness fell in an instant as, in unison, every single flame went out. In the room illuminated by nothing but moonlight, there was no sound but a faint whisper, as of wind, or perhaps a very distant voice.

Gaius stopped searching, instead bowing his head to Merlin’s chest, listening intently. He waited. His face was obscured by his long hair; his and Arthur’s looked equally silver in the pale light.

Arthur didn’t move. Gaius tried again.

“Gaius.”

“His heart’s stopped.”

Neither of them looked at each other. Arthur pressed his ear to Merlin’s chest just as Gaius had, but heard nothing.

“My lord—”

“I’m sorry.” Arthur didn’t stand back up. “It’s my fault.” For the first time that day, his voice was firm.

“Arthur.”

Gaius sat on the edge of Merlin’s bed, as if whatever had been keeping him standing had suddenly been taken away. He put his hand on top of Merlin’s, the same one that was still holding the rabbit’s foot.

Arthur didn’t move. Hermione and Ron exchanged petrified looks, but Harry just stood there blankly. He couldn’t die. Could he? He was Merlin. He was _Emrys_. He was… but he wasn’t their professor. Their professor was alive. Or—he had been. Perhaps now…

Hermione, unable to look anymore, turned to Harry, holding onto him and pressing her forehead to his shoulder. Absently, Harry put a hand on her shoulder. It might have been a comforting gesture, but he moved without conscious thought. His eyes met Ron’s, and his own lost expression was reflected there.

An abrupt intake of breath broke the silence. “Ugh. ‘S dark in here.”

_“Merlin?”_

Warm light spilled into the room as Gaius rushed to re-light the nearest candles. Merlin sat up with difficulty, looking around dazedly, arms shaking as he tried to get up.

Arthur sprang into action, pushing him back onto the bed firmly.

“Arthur? What are you doing here?” He squinted and rubbed at his temples, and if Arthur noticed that his eyes were flickering between blue and gold, he must have attributed it to the candles.

“No, you don’t ask the questions here, Merlin,” Arthur growled. “What the hell did you think you were doing, were you _trying_ to get yourself killed?”

“Er—”

He wheezed when Gaius enveloped him in a hug. Harry, Ron and Hermione inched closer, exchanging looks of amazement.

“We thought you were dead, mate,” said Ron incredulously.

Merlin nodded seriously, his hair sticking up in all directions. “That makes sense,” he said. “I feel dead.”

“You’re lucky you’re not!” said Arthur. “I would’ve made your ghost clean out the stables every day for a year.”


	12. Some people just attract trouble

“Told you he was immortal.”

“Yes, thank you, Ronald.”

Hermione got the bed now, being the only girl, while Harry and Ron lay on the floor attempting to use blankets as sleeping bags. Gaius, of course, unequivocally refused to let Merlin out of his sight—or even out of the downstairs cot—for the foreseeable future, so the sleeping arrangements had to be shuffled.

“All right,” said Harry. “I’m going to say it. Our professor’s a demigod.”

“Or a nature spirit,” Ron offered.

Hermione made a discontented noise. “But if it’s true, then why didn’t he warn us? He never acted like he knew us beyond Hogwarts or anything.”

“He _is_ the one who brought up Llwythan,” said Harry. “Maybe he wanted us to be here for some reason.”

“Well, yes, but it’s a known tourist destination for Merlin enthusiasts already. And how could he possibly have guessed that I’d bring my Time-Turner and that Ron would knock over that ancient time machine?”

“Nope,” said Ron. “I am not taking the blame for us taking a detour into the Middle Ages. This is a joint disaster.”

“Fine,” Hermione huffed. “That’s not the point. And besides, we can’t really say he’s _immortal_. Maybe one of those random antidotes worked, like Gaius said—”

“He clearly only said that for Prince Arthur’s benefit,” said Harry. “He _died_ and came back.”

“Sounded like it might not have been the first time,” Ron said quietly.

There was a long pause.

“Do you think Merlin knows?” said Hermione. “Only, he didn’t seem to realise what had happened…”

Ron snorted. “I don’t think he’s noticed.”

“Yep,” said Harry. “That sounds on-brand.”

Hermione made a sound of grudging non-disagreement.

“But _how—”_

Harry and Ron groaned in unison.

“ _How_ ,” Hermione insisted, “did he come back to life? I don’t care how powerful he is, no one die and come back, not really—and certainly not like that. He was _dead._ ”

“And unconscious,” Ron added.

Harry hummed. “Dead and unconscious. Yeah. But his magic didn’t seem to have a problem with that.”

“Yeah—not only does his magic act of its own accord, but it’s got a bloody personality?” Ron grumbled. “How is that even remotely—”

“No,” Hermione whispered, sitting up in bed. “It’s got _his_ personality. If he’s actually, literally made of magic, then his essence… well, it isn’t even contained inside his body, is it? He uses magic like an extra set of limbs, like it’s always there. Not like ours, where you have to sort of reach out and _expend_ magic to make something happen.”

“It could explain how he always does things without looking,” Harry admitted. “But what does that have to do with anything?”

She sighed. “If he lives halfway outside of his body, then killing his body wouldn’t end his existence, would it? The poison drained the magic inside him, but it couldn’t reach the part that was outside. Then, the part that was outside just… fixed him.”

“Hm,” was Ron’s response. “Maybe. Or maybe he was just brought back by someone else—like that goddess the Druids worship.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Hermione let herself fall back against the pillow. “But it’s not nearly as interesting.”

“Well,” Harry said with a shrug. “Either way, apparently the Druids weren’t exaggerating about him.”

* * *

As Harry ate his breakfast, Merlin was glaring at the armour on the floor so intently that it looked as if he were trying to will it clean by thinking very hard in its general direction.

Oh, right. That’s probably exactly what he was doing.

“You’d better not be trying to use magic,” said Gaius, from across the room. “Not only do you need to be more careful with it in general, but you also nearly died and you need to rest. That poison drained all your reserves, as far as I can tell.”

“But magic isn’t a tool to me, Gaius,” Merlin sighed. “It’s—I don’t know. It’s an arm. I’m missing an arm and I want it back.”

“Well, you’ve got two left and you’d better make use of them. Eat that before it gets cold.”

Merlin grumbled, but complied. In an effort to distract him, Hermione sat beside his bed to show him the banishing ritual they had found yesterday, suggesting that it might be adapted to time-traveling teenagers.

“That just might work,” he said. “Only problem is, I can’t think of a way to test it. I mean, I wouldn’t want to send you three to the wrong time period and have you get stuck there. I’d have no way of knowing.”

Hermione judiciously did not correct him on that.

“We’re lucky you found this,” Merlin added, skimming the adjacent pages. “I never would have thought of using it like that.”

She didn’t correct him on that either.

“We could test it with the Time-Turner,” she suggested. “I could send something back a few minutes and you could return it.”

Merlin brightened. “That’s an idea. Then we’ve just got to figure out how to change the ritual so it applies to time instead of location…”

* * *

Gaius eventually interrupted their blind and largely unproductive hypothesising to change Merlin’s bandages, warning Hermione that she might want to leave the room if she were squeamish. Hermione, of course, proceeded to situate herself front and centre purely out of stubbornness, and didn’t look away for a second. Her cheeks did darken a little when Gaius helped Merlin out of his shirt, but that was probably unrelated.

“What on earth…” Gaius muttered as he unwrapped the bandages.

“What?”

Merlin rushed to pull the rest of the fabric away, revealing a long, slightly raised mark slashed across his ribs—barely more than a scar. It was an ugly scar, sure, raised and reddish like a welt, but it was almost completely healed over.

“I thought you said I was only out for a day or two.”

“You were,” said Gaius. “Your magic must have sped up the healing process—in spite of the magic-draining spell, evidently. I daresay you’re recovering already.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Well. You’d better keep that covered for a few days anyway to avoid suspicion.” He re-wrapped a single layer of the bandage for appearances’ sake.

“Strange,” said Merlin. “I don’t usually heal that fast, I don’t think.”

Gaius did not comment.

* * *

Merlin technically hadn’t been given the day off, but Arthur had specifically prohibited him from doing almost all of his duties on the pretence that, given his injury, he would probably “muck it up worse than usual,” so he was to stay generally out of the way. The prince had stopped by once in the morning to say as much, then promptly made himself scarce upon seeing that Merlin was in no danger of suffering a relapse into death.

Despite these orders, Merlin still attempted to get up and leave several times, and was, by and large, a restless nuisance, as if he hadn’t been at death’s door just the night before. Unfortunately, the nervous energy eventually rubbed off on Harry, Ron and Hermione, and by the afternoon, the constant fussing and fidgeting started to get to Gaius.

He sighed as Merlin rearranged his string bean limbs yet again, hunching over the book of spells as he sat, technically, _on_ top of the blanket rather than actually _in_ the bed.

“Here,” said Gaius abruptly, pressing a small parchment into Merlin’s hands. “I need to replenish all the remedies I used over the past two days. You can go out to the forest to get them as long as you don’t get yourself in trouble, don’t stop to help anybody along the way, and most importantly, do exactly _no_ magic.”

Merlin brightened. Gaius’s scowl deepened. “And for Avalon’s sake avoid the knights,” he added.

“Can we come too?” Harry asked.

Gaius turned and raised an eyebrow. Behind him, Merlin attempted to imitate the gesture.

“I suppose,” he said. “But the same applies to you three. And do _try_ to keep him out of trouble.”

“We’ll do our best,” said Ron doubtfully.

* * *

They quite _nearly_ managed to make it through the halls of the castle and the streets of the lower town without getting stopped this time.

“Merlin!” a familiar voice called. They turned to see Morgana picking her way through the crowds of the lower town to approach them. “Arthur told me you had woken up, but I didn’t think he’d have made you start working again already!”

“Technically,” Merlin replied, “I’m supposed to be in bed, but Gaius got sick of me. We’re just going out to replenish the stores.”

“Ah, you’d better watch out for Arthur, then. I hear he’s been working everyone hard today; although that might be because he’s still beating himself up for letting you get stabbed.”

Merlin sighed. “Letting me? I _can_ take care of myself, my lady.”

“I know you can,” she said seriously. “But you can’t take care of yourself _and_ watch Arthur’s back all the time. I know he needs it.” She glanced around. “I had better let you get back to it, then. But I’m very glad to see you’re all right! I’ll be sure to let Gwen know when I see her, she’s been ever so worried.”

“Thank you,” said Merlin politely, and Morgana smiled at them once more before continuing on her way up to the castle.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had to quicken their pace to keep up with Merlin as he started to cross the meadow towards the treeline.

“She seems nice,” said Hermione neutrally.

“Yeah, she’s nowhere near as supercilious as Arthur,” Merlin agreed. “I mean, he’s my friend, but he’s a prat.”

“Is she your friend too?” Harry asked.

Merlin hummed. “Yeah, I suppose she is. We’ve all been through some weird stuff together. Not long ago, she and Gwen came with Arthur and me to defend my village from raiders.”

“She came to see you a few times when you were unconscious,” Hermione told him. “Gwen did, I mean. I think she was really worried.”

“That’s odd. She was there the last time I almost died, too. It was weird, she—” He paused abruptly. “Well, never mind. Let’s see, there’s got to be some rosemary around here somewhere…”

He then proceeded to blunder so chaotically into the forest that it was a wonder all the wild animals didn’t flee immediately.

The trio exchanged a look and followed.

* * *

They wandered seemingly aimlessly through the forest, completely ignoring any and all paths. Merlin, of course, always seemed to know exactly where he was going, even when he got turned around in the darkened forest chasing after a floating light that looked suspiciously like a hinkypunk. You know. The creatures you were never, under any circumstances, supposed to follow.

Despite all this, Merlin found each of the plants on the list so easily that Harry was beginning to wonder whether the forest wasn’t just growing them spontaneously wherever he happened to be standing, just to please him. It wouldn’t be the most ridiculous thing that had happened on this impromptu field trip. He clearly wasn’t doing it by magic, as he was still mostly unable to do anything at all with it.

Whilst looking around for thistles, Harry nearly ran right into Merlin when he stopped mid-stride.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked.

“Shh.” Merlin looked around, spinning in various directions to peer into the trees.

“Merlin—”

“Someone’s calling me.”

“I don’t hear anything,” said Ron.

Without preamble, Merlin took off in another direction.


	13. The line between respect and fear is not as firm as one might assume

Two chosen ones and two mostly ordinary schoolchildren scrambled loudly through the woods, chasing after a mysterious voice only one of them could hear. Harry would have objected more strongly, but having had his own experience just last year chasing after a voice only he could hear, he decided to reserve judgement for the time being.

“Tell me where you _are_ ,” Merlin muttered, far too low for anyone but the three of them to hear.

Abruptly, he turned, and they ran after him through thinning trees, eventually stumbling onto the rocky shore of a small stream—just at the moment that a middle-aged man in a brown cloak was crashing through the shallow water, crossing over to their side. He looked like he could have been a Druid.

“Emrys!” he shouted, panting. “They’re coming—run—bounty hunters—”

“Keep going!” Merlin urged him as the sounds of hooves echoed through the trees not far away. “I’ll head them off.”

“Master, please! You must flee, there are too many—”

Harry frowned at the man. _Master?_

“Go!” Merlin insisted. “All four of you, run, now! I’ll catch up.”

The stranger looked torn between following orders and staying by Merlin’s side, but there was no time for further discussion. As a half-dozen horses and their riders crashed through the brush on the other bank, he assumed a protective stance beside Merlin—who merely stood tall, perfectly calm.

“Stay out of this, boy,” warned the foremost rider, a leather-clothed man with a scraggly beard. “Hand over the sorcerer before you get hurt.”

“You can’t have him,” Merlin replied. “He’s under the protection of Emrys. I suggest you leave while you still can.”

The rider sneered. “Well, Emrys isn’t here, is he? If he’s even real.”

That got a few chortles out of his men.

“Oh, he’s real,” said the Druid lowly.

“This is your last warning, boy,” said the bounty hunter. “Hand him over, or we’ll give all five of you to Uther for harbouring a sorcerer.”

“I suppose the _king’s_ expecting you, then, is he?” Merlin scoffed. “Knows all your names and everything.”

“He will,” he growled. “Once we bring him five traitors to the crown.”

“Oh, so you _aren’t_ expected.” Merlin grinned brightly. “Good. Then he won’t miss you.”

Before any of them could react to that, the stream before them positively _exploded_ into the air like an inverted waterfall. The Druid stepped back in shock, though Merlin seemed unaffected by the eruption. Harry heard the horses scream on the other side, and when the blast of water started to shrink, they were bucking off their riders and galloping back into the woods, more quickly than Harry had ever seen a horse move.

The bounty hunters picked themselves up off the ground as quickly as they could, the wind having been knocked out of them, most of them soaking wet, and several clearly sporting injuries from their fall. As they drew their swords, Harry pulled out his wand. Ron and Hermione followed suit, the latter casting a shield charm around them all—but it bounced back almost instantly, blocked by some invisible force in front of them. Harry reached out to press his hand against it, searching in vain for the end of the invisible shield Merlin must have cast. He realised abruptly that this was why Professor Ambrose always misplaced his wand. It was superfluous to him.

“Leave us alone,” said Merlin once more, and his soft voice echoed eerily, resonating in the spaces between the trees. As darkness sunk gradually down around them, the high branches of the trees seeming to reach down towards them menacingly, Harry was not even entirely sure that Merlin was doing it on purpose; more likely, the power was simply leaking out of him in his weakened state. Indeed, when Harry peered through the unearthly darkness, Merlin’s own body seemed… _altered;_ somehow taller, sharper.

Every natural feature was accentuated, intensified to the point of becoming almost frightening; his normally pale skin shone silver and glassy, like the translucent gleam of a ghost, hair black as void, his entire form unnaturally stretched and skeletal. But his face—or what Harry could see of it from inside his bubble—was worse. Golden eyes were the only points of colour in a shadowed, jagged face whose expression Harry could not identify. Merlin was suddenly, quite apparently, not human; and Harry wondered nervously whether he ever had been.

“Go,” said the barely-familiar voice, and Harry knew without a doubt that there would be no further warnings.

Their attackers were less wise. Two men had fallen at some point—when, or how, Harry was not sure—but one charged again, sword at the ready, and another pulled out a crossbow. The men’s battle cries and the Druid’s incantations filled the air with cacophony, sparks and arrows flying as the earth rumbled beneath their feet and the air trembled around them.

That was when it ended.

_“Enough.”_

The command rang out harshly just as Merlin slashed his hand through the air, and just as abruptly, the remaining bounty hunters fell limp to the ground as if the life had been plucked directly from their bodies.

Hermione gasped. The noise turned Merlin’s head sharply, and in an instant, he had crossed the space between them, looming just outside the barrier, pale and sinister, magic crackling like electricity in the air between them. Someone whimpered. And though he tried, Harry could not force himself to look up into his face.

With a sudden jolt back into reality, the sun returned, the trees grew greener, the sounds of the birds and the brook returning, and Merlin, now perfectly normal and unassuming, took a step forward. Harry was still looking down at his worn leather boots.

“Are you all right?” he asked, sounding worried.

When no one responded, Merlin reached out towards Harry—instinctually, he flinched away, and regretted it immediately when he chanced a look up into Merlin’s face. He looked young again, expression unhappy and exhausted.

He hesitated. “They’re… they’re alive, you know.” He pointed to the fallen hunters. “Just unconscious.”

“Thank you for your aid, Emrys,” said the Druid timidly, once he had regained his composure. “I did not intend to lead them to you.”

“You didn’t,” Merlin reassured him. “I came looking for you. I’m not sure what to do with them now, though…”

Hermione raised a shaking hand. Harry gawked at her, stunned by her tenacity even now.

“Erm.” Merlin looked confused. “Do you have an idea?”

“I know a memory charm,” she practically whispered. “I could erase their memories of the past half hour or so.”

“Really?” It was Merlin’s turn to look impressed. “I mean, go ahead. I was planning to just send them really far away or invent some kind of monster, but a memory spell would be much simpler. Unless they’ve already taken other captives?” He addressed the last question to the Druid, who shook his head.

“Good. Perhaps they’ll keep moving, then. Come on,” Merlin said, beckoning to Hermione. “I’ll make sure none of them wake up and attack you. I’m starting to realise why Gaius said no magic—that really got away from me for a minute there.”

As Hermione performed _Obliviate_ on each bounty hunter in turn, Harry’s heart gradually slowed its dangerous pace and stopped hammering against his ribcage. He and Ron shared a wary glance.

_What the hell was all that?_ Ron mouthed. Harry shook his head dumbly.

“Are you coming back to Camelot with us?” Merlin was asking the Druid.

“I cannot,” he answered quietly. “I must return to my family as soon as possible. But I will be able to evade these men now that you have incapacitated them for the time being. Thank you, Emrys.”

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly. “And—my name’s Merlin.”

“I am Torranon. I am most fortunate to have had the chance to meet you in my lifetime, even in times such as these.”

“Erm… it’s good to meet you to,” said Merlin awkwardly.

Torranon smiled. “I must go. I wish you all the best fortune, Emrys.”

He hurried off into the trees, disappearing quickly among the foliage.

“…You too,” Merlin murmured.

The walk back to the castle was nearly silent. Merlin seemed to be unsure as to what had spooked Harry, Ron and Hermione, and they were not about to explain it. Nevertheless, he abandoned the rest of Gaius’s list in order to return them to Camelot as quickly as possible.

Somehow, Gaius knew the instant they walked in the door that something had happened.

“For the love of—what did you do this time?”

“Ran into some bounty hunters,” Merlin said quickly. “Everyone’s fine—and Herminny even wiped their memories, so they won’t be coming for us. Hey, could you teach me that, by the way? I have a feeling this isn’t going to be the last time I need it.”

“ _No_ magic!”

It was safe to say Merlin was effectively grounded again. For the rest of the day, Gaius handed him one thing after another to mix, grind up, or clean whilst Harry, Ron and Hermione returned to their time travel research, now trying to determine how one could alter an existing spell.

“If only I’d taken better advantage of the Hogwarts library,” Hermione muttered. “The king did a good job getting rid of anything related to magic.”

When the door swung open, Harry quickly covered the magic book with a more mundane one.

“Good evening,” said Prince Arthur to the room in general. Harry just prayed he wasn’t here about the bounty hunters. “Here are my notes from the last council meeting,” he said, handing Merlin a scroll. “I need you to write a short speech for the next one. Father’s going to bring Morgana with him when he goes to sign that amendment to the treaty—I think he’s hoping she’ll influence the outcome—so I’ll need to present the new tax plan to the council.”

Merlin gave him an unimpressed look. “You mean _I_ need to present the new tax plan.”

“No, _Mer_ lin,” said Arthur, grinning and messing up Merlin’s hair. “I’ll be the one _reading_ the speech, after all. That’s by far the most important part of the process.”

“Right,” Merlin scoffed. “I’ll get it on your desk tomorrow morning, then, so you have plenty of time to memorise _my_ speech.”

“Just make sure it’s legible this time.”

“My handwriting is better than yours, prat. Just make sure you don’t smudge grease or sweat or something equally gross all over the page.”

“You’d sweat too, if you were in better shape.”

Merlin laughed. “That’s really not how it works.”

Arthur glared at him. “You know what I mean! You need to train more. Then maybe next time, you wouldn’t get stabbed.”

“I’ll do my best not to get stabbed in future, sire,” said Merlin absently, unrolling Arthur’s scroll.

“See that you do!” Arthur retorted, heading for the door. “And cut down on the insolence, will you? I have a reputation to maintain here.”

“Of course, my lord. I always ensure that you have the last word.”

Arthur gave a firm nod and strode out, the door clicking shut behind him.

After a moment, the door opened again and he stuck his head back in, glaring.

“Wait.”

The bickering continued for another four full minutes, by Hermione’s estimate. Arthur was nearly late to his next meeting, and Merlin spent the rest of the evening scratching away on a parchment and muttering to himself.

Merlin was a jumble of contradictions, Harry thought as he watched him out the corner of his eye. Why would Prince Arthur have him write royal speeches if he so often treated him like a simpleton? And besides that, it had been niggling at Harry that he couldn’t even begin to guess what House Merlin would be in; he’d be a hatstall if there ever was one. He was brave, certainly, but always lurking in the shadows. Somehow both honest and scheming, he was always on the one hand too wise and on the other too naïve. Just like Professor Ambrose: unspeakably ancient and unbearably youthful. And just like the apparition he had become: beautiful and terrifying.

Harry buried his nose in his book again, just to be safe. Merlin probably had eyes in the back of his head.

* * *

That night, Harry, Ron and Hermione went up to bed early. Merlin, once more confined to the cot, shot a worried look after them.

There was silence for a long time as they readied themselves for bed.

Ron was the first to break it. Glancing over his shoulder at the door, he whispered, “What _was_ that? Back there in the forest?”

Harry shook his head slowly.

“He shouldn’t even be at full capacity yet,” said Hermione. “Even if he _did_ survive the poison.”

“Do you think he would have hurt us?” asked Ron quietly.

“Not on purpose,” was Harry’s only reply.

“I’ve never seen anything like that…” Hermione murmured after a moment.

“I thought he killed them all,” said Ron in a low voice. “Hardly lifted a finger.”

“Probably could have,” Harry muttered. “Injured or no.”

“Even that Torra-whatsit bloke seemed afraid,” Ron agreed. “For a minute, anyway.”

Their conversation petered out when they heard low sounds from downstairs, and by unspoken agreement moved closer to the door to hear.

“Nothing,” Merlin was saying quietly. “I messed around with the water in the brook to try and scare them off and make them think there was a ghost or something, but when it didn’t work I just knocked them all unconscious. Well—” He paused. “I think I accidentally made it a bit dark. But they looked at me like I—oh, I don’t know, Gaius. Like they’d seen something. Whatever monster I _really_ am.”

“Don’t say that,” Gaius responded instantly.

“Why not? You know it’s true. Even Kilgharrah’s afraid of me, I can tell.”

Guiltily, Harry moved away from the door, returning to his makeshift bedroll. Ron and Hermione soon followed suit, and Harry snuffed out the candle with his wand.


	14. The "haven't you heard" principle

“I’ve finished translating the incantation,” said Hermione after breakfast. “I think this part here could be the key, where it says ‘return to the realm from whence you came’…”

Merlin, who had returned to check in after attending Prince Arthur, joined Ron and Hermione to look over her shoulder at her notebook, where she had copied down the instructions.

“Ah! You’re right.” He reached past Hermione to pick up the quill—she startled very slightly—and scrawled a few words in the margin. “I think if we replace that section with this, it would work. We just have to figure out a way to test it.”

“But don’t you need to know how far forward in time we need to travel?” Harry asked. “The problem is, we don’t count the years the same way you do.”

“I don’t think so,” said Merlin, barely even acknowledging that last comment. “It should work like that automatically, though we can’t really be sure until we experiment with it a bit. You said roughly a thousand years, right? At such a large scale, even if we _could_ figure out exactly how far you need to go, we’d probably be off by a few decades on either side—which is kind of important, under these circumstances.”

“If you’re experimenting,” Gaius interjected, “you’d better do it upstairs, at the very least. I keep telling you, anyone could just walk in here.”

They started gathering up the books and their notes again, and were halfway up the stairs when the door opened.

Gaius shot them a pointed look.

“Hello, Gaius,” said Gwen. “Is Merlin—There you are! Oh, I’m so glad you’re all right!”

“Hi, Gwen,” said Merlin as he descended.

Gwen met him on the bottom stair and hugged him tightly before drawing back just as suddenly. “Oh, no, I’m sorry—I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, it’s all right. It’s good to see you. The others told me you came by but I wasn’t awake yet.”

“Oh, I—” She looked down. “Yeah. Just once or twice. It’s just, I… I thought you were going to die, Merlin,” she said quietly. “Again. You keep risking your own life for Arthur’s.”

Merlin shuffled on his feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I was just… caught off guard. I know you care about him, and I—”

“I care about you _too_ , you idiot!” Gwen retorted, then quickly deflated, quickly wiping a tear from her eye before it could fall. “I mean—sorry…”

Merlin smiled. “It’s okay. I am an idiot.”

“No, not really, you’re—” She sniffled.

“Don’t be sad,” he said. “Everything’s all right now. Here—” He put his hands behind his back. “I have something for you. It’s nothing special, but…”

From Harry’s vantage point, he saw a flower with purple petals bloom straight out of Merlin’s clasped hands, just before he presented it to Gwen. “Purple suits you,” he said, grinning. “Not that yellow doesn’t,” he added, gesturing to her dress.

“Ohh…” She smiled down at the little flower as she held it delicately in both hands. “Thank you. Is—is this a daisy?”

“They’re your favourite, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but they only come in white. Where did you find this?”

“Erm.”

Harry, who was 90% certain that coloured daisies did, in fact, exist, had a disconcerting feeling that he was about to witness their invention.

“Sure they do,” said Merlin nervously. “I found them out in the forest somewhere. This morning. They come in all sorts of colours: purple, yellow, red… I’ll show you sometime.”

And it was safe to assume that a patch of daisies in impossible colours had just miraculously appeared in the middle of the forest.

But Gwen only smiled, her eyes no longer wet with tears. “I’d like that.”

As Gwen headed out to get back to her duties and Merlin continued up to his room, Harry reflected that it was difficult to remain wary of a man who used his immense magical power to accidentally invent a new flower just to make his friend happy.

It also happened to be a very Hufflepuff thing to do; although it was also rather Slytherin to commit to a cover story so thoroughly that you created several new species.

“Plants!” Hermione exclaimed suddenly.

Merlin shut the bedroom door and looked at her quizzically.

“We can test the spell on plants,” Hermione explained. “To make sure they don’t age or die when we send them forward in time.”

“That’s not a bad idea, Hermione,” said Ron. “Where do we get—”

Merlin presented them with a sudden potted plant.

“Erm. All right then.”

“Wait,” said Harry. “How does this back-and-forth time travel thing work again?”

(Both Hermione and Merlin had already explained it several times, but Harry was only able to keep it straight in his head for a few seconds before it all collapsed into paradoxes. And that was only when one or the other of them _didn’t_ get it mixed up and have to figure the whole thing out again.)

After stumbling through yet another joint explanation of the procedure, they decided they had better write the thing down, which resulted in the following:

_Step one: Receive plant B from the future. You now have two plants, A, the original, and B, the one from the future._

_Step two: Use the spell to send plant B back._

_Step three: Sit around and wait for plant A to become plant B via the passage of time. (Wait five minutes.)_

_Step four: Send your plant (now B) five minutes into the past using the Time-Turner._

_Step five: Wait for your plant to come back (once your past selves send it back to the future with the spell)._

Without warning, a plant appeared in the middle of the room.

“It worked!” Merlin exclaimed. “Well—I guess that’s not the hard part, really.”

“Okay, now try and send it back,” said Hermione.

Merlin recited the spell and the future-plant disappeared.

“What now?” said Ron.

Harry looked at the instructions. “Now we wait five minutes so we can send _our_ plant—” He indicated their original one— “back in time to our past selves.”

“What past selves?”

“You know, us from five seconds ago.”

“I thought you said five minutes.”

“Once we wait five minutes, the thing that just happened will have been five minutes ago.”

Of course, by the time Harry finished re-explaining it, five minutes had passed.

“Everybody shush,” said Hermione, draping the Time-Turner over the plant. “I have to make sure I count properly.”

“Even if you don’t,” said Merlin, “it doesn’t really matter, since whatever you do this time is going to necessarily be the same thing you did last time. In the future.”

“You’re not helping.”

The plant disappeared. Seconds later, it returned, looking much less green.

“Oh, no,” said Merlin. “It’s dead.”

The plant died several times. Fortunately, things went uphill from there.

“I’m starting to feel bad for this shrub,” said Ron the third time Merlin revived it. The only consolation was that this time, it had been reduced to a sprout rather than actually killed.

“I’ll make sure it goes to live somewhere nice after this,” said Merlin, sounding entirely sincere. “This time it’s going to work, I’m sure… I just have to do something to specify that I want it to stay in exactly this state.”

He scribbled something in the notebook as Hermione used the Time-Turner on the plant again and it disappeared. Reading from the page, Merlin recited the new incantation: plant and Time-Turner reappeared, unchanged.

“Thank Merlin,” Ron muttered. His eyes went wide as he realised his mistake.

“Erm,” said Merlin. “You’re welcome? But I still think we should test it on longer time periods first. And preferably on something slightly more sentient. Wonder if I could capture a rat…”

So, of course, they spent the rest of the day skulking about the castle, alternately waiting for extended periods of time to _see_ a rat, then scrambling after it for a few seconds before inevitably losing it, and probably annoying a few passers-by in the process.

When they returned empty-handed to Gaius’s chambers for dinner, there was Merlin, petting a black rat that was sitting comfortably on his shoulder.

“There you are!” he exclaimed. “I couldn’t find you anywhere after we split up, so I was hoping you’d come back here eventually. Good news,” he added, standing up and placing the rat carefully in his open palm. “I have found a rat. His name is Raven. Bad news: I have grown attached to Raven.”

“Probably shouldn’t have named it,” said Harry.

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed, replacing the rat on his shoulder. “Yeah, that was a bad move. I’d feel bad about experimenting on him now.”

“Couldn’t you just get a new rat if anything happens to him?” said Hermione.

Ron looked scandalised.

“How would that help?” said Merlin. “I didn’t even want the first rat. No offence, Raven. We’re friends now.”

“I mean, we’ve already made sure the spell doesn’t kill the plant,” Harry pointed out. “I don’t see how anything bad could happen to him.”

“Maybe I should just test it out on myself instead.”

“Absolutely not,” said Gaius, placing bowls of stew on the table. “Besides, you can’t perform the spell on yourself.”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed, “that would introduce a new variable even if you could manage it.”

“No rats at the table,” said Gaius wearily as they took their seats.

Merlin magicked up a jar full of small holes and placed the rat inside it, then on the bench next to him.

“No magic at the table, either.”

* * *

Ultimately, Merlin agreed to test the spell on the rat as long as he was allowed to use magic to heal it if anything went wrong (not that he wouldn't have done that anyway, of course). Raven didn’t seem to particularly _like_ being sent back and forth in time—and securing the Time-Turner around him every time was an absolute nightmare until they figured out that they ought to just secure it around the entire jar—but neither he nor his jar suffered any apparent ill effects from being passed back and forth between past-Merlin and future-Merlin.

They nearly had a mix-up when a rat from the future materialised while they were trying to send a different rat back to the past, but given that Raven grew progressively more stressed as time went on, they were able to distinguish between them by virtue of determining which rat looked more harassed.

Harry was starting to sympathise with Merlin on the rat issue.

“I think we’ve finally got it,” said Hermione when Raven once again returned unharmed, on time, and the same age as when he left.

Merlin sighed. “I just wish there was a way to make sure you lot get there all right. It’s a much greater time span, and if something goes wrong, there’s no way for me to know and no way for you to get back.”

“Well, even if we end up in the wrong time period…” Hermione hesitated, glancing at Harry and Ron. “We have somewhere we can go to get help. So you needn’t worry too much about us now.”

“I suppose if there are more sorcerers in the future,” he conceded, “you’ll probably be able to find someone more capable than me even if you end up in the wrong decade or something. Here.” He copied the spell onto a spare page of Hermione’s notebook and ripped it out, then pressed the pad full of their notes into her hand. “Keep the spell. If it doesn’t work, you can show it to someone so you don’t have to start over from nothing.”

“Thanks,” she murmured. “I wish there was some way we could let you know we’re all right, but… well, I’m sure everything’s going to be fine.”

“Yeah. There’s no reason it shouldn’t work,” he said bracingly. “But—could you tell me one thing? About the future?”

They nodded.

“Does Arthur become a great king?” he asked quietly. “I mean, are we doing the right thing? For Albion?”

Hermione smiled. “Yes. Because of you and Arthur, Camelot is remembered as a great citadel of peace and magic.”

“It’s practically what our society is founded on,” said Ron. “My mum always used to tell me stories about this place.”

Merlin looked taken aback. “Even a thousand years in the future?”

“I don’t think you’ll be forgotten anytime soon,” said Harry. “Even after our time.”

“I can’t even imagine that,” said Merlin. He grinned wryly. “I’ll be sure not to tell Arthur, though. Don’t need his head getting any bigger.” He stood up from the floor, taking the plant and the rat with him. “I’d better let you three get some sleep. We should probably send you back to your own time tomorrow. Not that I wouldn’t like to ask you a thousand more questions, but… I wouldn’t want to risk anything bad happening if you were stuck outside of your time for too long.”

As Merlin left, Harry felt, to his surprise, a little sad that they had to leave Camelot behind, even if they were finally going to get home. At least he was pretty sure Merlin would be there to greet them when they returned to Hogwarts.


	15. Time is the one true alkahest

When Harry awoke, there were voices coming from downstairs. He listened more closely to the indistinct murmurs, and then: “You can’t keep rats in the castle, Merlin!”

“He was already in the castle! Only difference is, now he’s eating the food I give him instead of just… everything.”

“Don’t feed rats, Merlin. Why do you even care what happens to it? You’ve eaten rat before!”

“So have you!”

“Only because you tricked me into it!”

All right. Harry needed to hear the rest of this story.

“I am trying to work,” said Gaius’s voice as Harry got ready to go downstairs. “And I am afraid I must agree with Arthur.”

“ _Thank_ you, Gaius.”

“Oh, hey, Ari,” said Merlin as Harry descended the stairs. “Arthur’s trying to take my rat.”

“No, I’m trying to get _rid_ of it.”

“That’s what I said.”

Arthur waved a dismissive hand at him. “I didn’t come to see you or your rat, anyway, _Mer_ lin. I came to wish our guests a safe journey home.”

“Thank you, sire. Ron and Hermione should be down in a moment,” said Harry. Indeed, there were a few thumps and grumbling sounds coming from the other room as he spoke.

“I would have loaned you a few horses, but Merlin tells me you are only traveling a short distance. Still, if you would prefer…”

Merlin gave Harry a significant look over Arthur’s shoulder.

“Not at all, sire,” said Harry quickly. “Thank you. But, er, Merlin’s right. Now that you’ve let us rest here, we can continue on home more easily. We… appreciate your hospitality.”

Arthur nodded solemnly. “Any friend of Merlin’s is welcome here. Ah, good morning,” he added, looking over Harry’s shoulder as Ron and Hermione joined them. “I am only dropping in to ensure you have everything you need for your journey. If you are in need of any supplies, I would be happy to provide them.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Hermione. “Your hospitality these past days has been more than enough. We’re very grateful.”

“Very well, then,” said Arthur. “I shall leave you to it. And, Merlin—if I find out you’ve taken a detour via the tavern, I’ll have your hide.”

Merlin merely muttered irritably about never even having been to the tavern. As he busied himself with setting out breakfast, Arthur moved closer to the trio and spoke in a low voice.

“If anything should happen,” he said, “one of you ride back as fast as you can and fetch me. Merlin may be the worst servant in the five kingdoms, but he’s a good man, and he’ll protect you. If it should come to that…” He shook his head. “I'll always fight by his side. You three have nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, sire,” said Harry. “We understand.”

Arthur nodded. “Good. Oh, and once you’re halfway there, tell him from me that he’s a cabbage-head.” He flashed them a grin as he left.

* * *

Their ‘departure’ time came too soon for Harry’s liking. He was eager to get back—though admittedly nervous about the process—but it simultaneously felt as if they had only just arrived. Shouldn’t they explore more, visit other kingdoms? Wouldn’t Hermione have a thousand questions to ask Merlin? But, then again… it might not be the last time they would see him. And Harry certainly _did_ have questions for Professor Ambrose.

Gaius cornered them before they went upstairs to change back into the clothes they had arrived in. “Listen carefully,” he said in a low voice. “I have had my suspicions about Merlin for some time. I fear that his destiny, and his burden, are greater than any of us could imagine. So—” He handed Hermione a folded parchment. “If you should ever happen to see Merlin again, I want you to give him this letter.” He sighed. “I am an old man, and I will not always be here for the boy, no matter how much I wish I could be. There is nothing in this letter that he doesn’t already know, I’m sure, but sometimes we all need to be reminded of things we may have forgotten.”

With that, he returned to his work.

“Well,” said Ron, “I guess that settles the question of whether or not we should tell Merlin about... everything.”

“I suppose so,” Hermione murmured. “Gaius doesn’t seem to want to. I’ll go change first, then. I’ll be right back.”

Harry stepped closer to Ron as she headed upstairs. “Shouldn’t we at least try to warn him? You know, about Morgana or… what was it, Mordred?”

Ron hummed. “What if we left a note? We could put it in his room for him to find. He’d have to at least think about it.”

“That might work. I get the feeling Hermione doesn’t want to interfere, but…”

“But we’ve got to try,” Ron agreed grimly.

So when it was their turn to go up, Harry hastily scrawled a message on a spare scrap of parchment: _Don’t trust Morgana._ He didn’t know if Mordred was even around, but hoped that the warning would extend to her son, as well.

Back in their (surprisingly soft) clothes, Harry and Ron joined Hermione, Merlin and Gaius in the centre of the room. Harry wiped his slightly sweaty palms on his trousers as the three of them lined up solemnly.

“I know this is going to work,” Gaius assured Merlin. “Now _you_ just have to believe it.”

Merlin gave a fortifying nod. “All right. Are you ready?”

“Do you have all your things?” Gaius added.

The trio shared a glance. “We’re ready.”

“Well,” said Merlin hesitantly. “It was good to meet you, then.”

“We wish you all the best,” said Gaius.

Merlin took a deep breath and slowly, carefully read the spell off the scrap of paper.

Nothing happened. They all stared blankly.

“You’re being too careful,” said Gaius. “Here—” He took the paper out of his hand. “You know the spell. Now feel the magic, and send them home.”

Merlin hesitated. He looked back at Harry, Ron and Hermione, and as his eyes turned gold, he recited the incantation again.

Without warning, the castle disappeared from around them.

Merlin and Gaius were gone, as was the physician’s chamber, and the floor beneath their feet. Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, who appeared to be fine, if a little stunned.

The three of them were standing in the middle of an empty field, a breeze ruffling their hair as they stood. Birds were singing in the cold morning air. The entire castle had disappeared—or so Harry thought, until Hermione bent down to brush the dirt away from a large, once-white stone. Now that he knew what to look for, Harry noticed a vast number of oddly shaped mounds that must be the remains of the castle walls, all arranged in right angles and almost entirely covered in grass and weeds and flowers.

Ron bent to pick something up off the ground. It looked to be a piece of metal, though it had been rusted and eroded so far that they could no longer tell what it had once been. Harry had a sort of sinking, empty feeling that told him it was one of Gaius’s medical instruments.

As he looked out onto the empty plain, he saw that the castle spires, the lower town, and the road to Camelot had all disintegrated. Even the forest was gone. All that remained were a few old stones, some stacked taller than others, and a few odd patches of colourful daisies.

“It feels like a graveyard,” Hermione whispered into the wind.

“I think,” said Harry, “it sort of is.”

He didn’t know if the sorrowful feeling in his chest was his own, or whether he was sensing one man’s centuries upon centuries of mourning. All he knew was that he wanted to go home.

“I think there’s a road up that way,” said Ron quietly, pointing east. “Can you see it?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, though he didn’t. “Let’s go.”

As they stepped over what had once been a mighty stone wall surrounding a vibrant city, the ground behind them seemed to shift and grow, forming itself into a plain, peaceful little hill that covered the ruins of Camelot.

“So that’s how he did it,” Hermione murmured, though for once, she didn’t sound particularly happy to have found an answer to her question.

“Come on,” said Harry. “We can probably hail the Knight Bus up by the road.”

“Assuming we’re in the right century,” Ron muttered.

They were silent for the entire ten-minute hike to the little two-lane road. It was paved with asphalt, but completely devoid of cars. With obvious trepidation, Ron stuck out his wand—

And with a cacophony of honks and screeching tires, the purple monstrosity that was the Knight Bus popped into existence before them. Ron let out a whoop, and Harry nearly hugged Stan Shunpike when he emerged from the bus to let them in.

“All right,” he said, “Get in, get in. Where you lot headed?”

“Llwythan,” said Hermione happily.

“Hang on. Didn’t I just see you three ‘bout an hour ago?”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “We got a bit lost.”

“Yeah, I’ll say. Go on then, take it away, Ern.”

They took off at breakneck speed, as usual, swerving and jumping and breaking every single traffic law until they reached their destination in under a minute.

“Llwythan,” Stan announced as the three of them wobbled to a standing position. “Reckon I’ll see you lot ‘round, then.”

“Reckon you’re right,” Ron agreed, and they stepped down onto the quiet Welsh street where they had begun, what seemed like a month ago now.

Hermione glanced at the curiosity shop down the street where this whole thing had started. “Do you think we should—?”

“Not on your life,” said Ron immediately. “Let’s go home.”

“Where do you think your parents are?” asked Harry.

“Hm. Let’s try that café.”

They followed Ron a few doors down to the blue and orange café that Harry vaguely remembered the owner of the bookshop complaining about. When Ron opened the door, they were greeted by a wave of warm air, an aroma of good food, and a cry of “There you are!”

“We wondered where you three had gone off to,” said Mrs. Weasley, ushering them towards a table in the corner where she and Mr. Weasley had been sitting. “Are you hungry? Did you eat your sandwiches?”

“Yeah, we did,” said Ron. “We’re all set. Thanks, Mum.”

“Those did come in handy,” Harry agreed.

Mrs. Weasley smiled. “Oh, I’m glad. Do you have more work to do, then, or are you ready to go?”

“I think we’re ready to go home,” said Ron quickly.

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed. “We’ve got everything we need.”

“That’s great!” said Mr. Weasley, standing to push in his chair. “Perhaps I can do some work in the garden today, then.”

“You’d better not let those gnomes in again!” Mrs. Weasley warned as they left the café. “They’re _pests_ , Arthur.”

Mr. Weasley stuck out his wand for the bus. “Oh, they’re harmless.”

“They do plenty of harm! They bite, for one thing. And they eat everything!”

When the bus screeched up to the kerb, Stan looked down at them and sighed. “What, back already?”


	16. A century is an immensely long time. Fifteen of them is much longer

When Harry stepped into the warm, friendly clutter of the Burrow, he immediately sank into the cushiest armchair in the house and vowed never to get up. That is, until Mrs. Weasley started making tea. The only thing Harry needed more than a decent place to rest was food that had some flavour.

Hermione—who would be staying at the Burrow until her parents arrived that evening—started to follow Harry and Ron into the kitchen, but they were intercepted by the other Weasleys thundering down the stairs. Ron was so happy to be home that he actually hugged Ginny when she arrived. Fred and George, on the other hand, quickly sidestepped him.

“Blimey, Ron, what have you been rolling around in?” said Fred.

George pinched his nose. “You smell terrible, you were only gone for an hour or two.”

Hermione made a discontented noise. “You two should probably change,” she said, indicating their filthy clothes. “I’ll just go and wash up as best I can. Oh, thank Merlin, I can finally do something about my hair.” She flushed slightly when she realised what she’d said, but ran upstairs without commenting on it.

“I’m going to brush my teeth,” said Ron dreamily. “With toothpaste.”

* * *

After tea, Harry, Ron and Hermione gathered in the sitting room as if to start on their homework, but none of them made a move to start on it.

“So…” said Ron eventually. “Are we totally sure all that really happened?”

“The cloud of stench hovering around us would seem to be a good indication,” said Harry.

“It does seem sort of… distant, all of a sudden,” said Hermione. “Like a dream.”

Harry shrugged. “All I know is, when we get back to Hogwarts, I have a lot of questions for Professor Ambrose.”

“You’re really sure he’s not just a relative, then?” Hermione murmured.

No one mentioned the name they were all thinking.

“Let’s just talk to him,” said Ron. “Besides, we’ve got to figure out what to do about our assignment anyway, now that we’re back. I mean, we can’t very well write about any of the things we saw when we were there, can we?”

“Oh, no!” Hermione cried. Harry shot a glare at Ron for bringing it up. “What are we going to write for our essay?” she worried. “We went all the way there and hardly got anything—well, no scholarly sources, anyway.”

“Well, we can’t write about Merlin, but maybe we could write about Guinevere,” Harry suggested. “I had no idea her life was so interesting.”

Ron frowned. “Hang on. Does all this have something to do with why he wouldn’t let us write about Merlin?”

“Oh,” said Hermione. “Of course. I knew there was no good academic reason to prohibit that topic.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

* * *

The days until their return to Hogwarts ticked by anxiously. After Hermione returned home with her parents, Harry and Ron occupied their time by playing Quidditch with the Weasleys, de-gnoming the garden, playing chess, reluctantly reading books, de-gnoming the garden all over again, and generally trying not to think about anything that had happened in the previous week that was really only a day.

And like all school holidays, this one passed more quickly than they were expecting. On Saturday evening, they packed up their things, preparing to get up early the next morning to catch the Hogwarts Express.

“Do you think we’re technically older now?” Ron asked as they were going to bed. “Since we lived through all that extra time, but then returned to the twentieth century right after we’d gone?”

It was the first time they’d directly spoken about their time in Camelot since leaving. Harry got the vague impression that they were waiting to discuss it—waiting until they were somewhere more magical, somewhere that it wouldn’t feel so unreal.

“Suppose we are,” said Harry. “I don’t reckon we can tell anyone about it, though.”

“I guess not,” Ron agreed. “At least, not until we talk to _him_.”

* * *

Harry was half-hoping that Professor Ambrose would turn up on the train again, but the next morning when they arrived at Platform 9 ¾, he was nowhere in sight. After saying their goodbyes to Mrs. Weasley and wandering off to find Hermione, the three of them boarded the train and made their way down to the end, scanning every compartment as they went. Professor Ambrose was nowhere to be found, but at least they were able to find a compartment to themselves, since some students had stayed behind at Hogwarts and weren’t crowding the train.

“I hope the Dementors don’t board the train again,” said Harry as they settled in, remembering the awful experience at the beginning of that year.

“They probably won’t,” said Ron. “They didn’t the last time, before break.”

“Oh, no,” Hermione murmured.

“What?”

“I think I’m starting to understand why Professor Ambrose had such a bad reaction to the Dementors…”

“A lot of things are starting to make more sense,” Harry muttered.

Now that he was starting to get over the shock of it all (finally), he felt himself starting to move towards resentment. Why hadn’t Ambrose ever said anything? Why hadn’t he warned them? And more importantly, why hadn’t he done anything to stop Voldemort?

The three of them didn’t even have to discuss it, because they all knew where they were going as soon as they got to the castle. They changed into their robes, passed the perimeter of Dementors without incident, and arrived at Hogwarts just before noon. When they finally walked back into the castle, they made straight for the moving stairs in the direction of Professor Ambrose’s office. They couldn’t be sure if he had arrived yet, but term began tomorrow, so he couldn’t avoid them for long in any case.

Before they knew it, they were standing in front of the familiar wooden door of Ambrose’s office. Muffled voices could be heard from behind it, and now that Harry thought of it, he had never seen the door fully closed before.

The trio hesitated for the first time. Should they knock? Come back later? And who exactly would they be interrupting?

Their decision was cut short when the door opened: behind it stood Professor Lupin.

“Huh,” he said. “Hello, you three. Seems you were right, Martin, how did you know they were there?”

Harry heard a familiar laugh, and was struck by an unexpected wave of relief at hearing Merlin’s voice—something half of him had believed he’d never hear again.

“Oh, a wizard never reveals his secrets, Remus, you know that.”

With a reassuring smile, Lupin opened the door wider and gestured for the trio to enter. Harry led the way into the cluttered office that suddenly reminded him forcibly of Gaius’s chambers. Professor Ambrose’s desk had been mostly cleared off but for two cups of tea, one of which must be Lupin’s.

Somehow, it was a bit of a shock to see him. _Merlin_ was sitting there, the greatest sorcerer to ever live, with his goofy smile and boyish face and ancient blue eyes. They had left him behind in an medieval citadel, and now here he was, not a day older. There was no surprise in them, no sudden recognition, only that ever-present sense of something _else_ , something hiding underneath. The only difference was, now Harry knew what it was.

“Hello,” he said cheerfully, looking like a perfectly normal twenty-something with his soft blue jumper and slightly messy hair, spinning a pencil idly in his hand. “I hope you had a good Christmas. We were just having tea, would you like some?”

“Er, hello,” said Harry. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, having, now, no idea where to begin. “No, thank you, we just… er…”

“We know everything!” Ron blurted.

Lupin looked quizzically at him, then at Ambrose.

For his part, Ambrose appeared entirely nonplussed. “Sorry?”

Before Ron could blurt something else, Hermione pulled a piece of parchment out of the bag she was still carrying. After a moment, Harry recognised it as Gaius’s letter.

“We have something for you,” she said squeakily, reaching over to hand it to him.

“What’s this?” he said even as he started to unfold it. His nearly empty teacup began to tip slightly in his other hand as he was distracted.

And then it smashed to the floor with a shattering sound when he jolted up from his chair.

“Martin!” Lupin exclaimed, but Ambrose didn’t respond. His face had gone pale, and he took no notice of the cup or of his colleague’s concern as his eyes flicked rapidly down the page.

His breath shortened, and glanced up briefly at Harry, Ron and Hermione with a look of confusion and something like panic.

“What is it—?” Lupin started to ask, but Ambrose shook his head, taking a few steps backward and bumping into his chair on the way.

Then, without warning, he disappeared with a loud CRACK.

“What the—” Lupin dashed around the desk as if looking for him. “Did he just Disapparate? How—that's impossible! What exactly did you give him?”

“Just a letter!” Hermione cried. “I didn’t know he would—I don’t know what was in it, just—we ran into someone, a relative of his, and he asked us to give it to him.”

“Are you certain?” Professor Lupin asked seriously.

“We don’t know anything else!” she insisted, sounding increasingly anxious.

“All right.” He took a deep breath. “You three had better go. I’m going to go look for him.”

“Are you going to tell Dumbledore?” said Ron quickly.

Lupin grimaced, leading them quickly from the room. “If I can’t find Professor Ambrose.”

He rushed off in a flurry of shabby robes, leaving the trio standing in the empty corridor, unsure of what to do next.

“That went well,” said Ron.

“It was a better idea than just blurting the first thing that popped into your head!” Hermione retorted.

“I don’t think he had any idea what was going on,” said Harry, ignoring them. “Is it possible we didn’t go to the past? Well, not _our_ past, anyway. An alternate universe, or something.”

“I suppose…” said Hermione uncertainly.

Ron threw up his hands. “Why would he have freaked out like that if he wasn’t who we think he is? If he didn’t recognise Gaius’s name?”

Harry had to concede that point. “What was even in that letter, anyway, Hermione?”

“Well, I don’t know! I just said as much.”

Ron regarded her sceptically.

“Oh, all right! I may have _glanced_ at it, just to make sure it wasn’t anything dangerous. But it wasn’t anything important, or sensitive. Gaius just said that he loved him and was proud of him, and gave him some advice about trusting his instincts. I don’t know. I really _didn’t_ read the whole thing.”

“Hold on,” said Ron. “Gaius doesn’t speak English.”

“What does that have to do with—”

“You could only read it because Merlin forgot to remove the translation spell, or whatever it was he did. Remember? Professor Ambrose shouldn’t even have been able to read that.”

Harry sighed. “I knew we’d forgotten something. But if it _is_ him, then why doesn’t he remember us?”

“Harry,” said Hermione slowly, “do you remember the name of that lady at the bookshop?”

“Erm.” He thought back to Llwythan, trying to picture her face. It might have started with a B… “Not really. Why?”

“Because that was only weeks ago,” she said grimly. “Think about it. From his perspective, it’s been over a thousand years. Ten _centuries_. Probably closer to fifteen. We were there for a few days, we only gave him our first names—which he couldn’t even pronounce properly—and then he went on to live through fifteen more lifetimes. He _might_ remember that three kids from the future turned up, but there’s no way he remembers our faces, and I’d be surprised if he remembered our names, either.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Ron breathed. “He hasn’t heard from Gaius in centuries, either. That must be why he freaked out like that.”

“Oh, I forgot!” Hermione reached into her bag again and withdrew a packet of photographs. “I had these developed when I went home. Look at this one.” She shuffled through to find a photo of Harry and Ron sitting next to Merlin and Gaius, both of whom were eyeing the camera warily as if expecting it to explode.

“We’ve got to find him,” said Harry.

“But if he can Apparate inside of Hogwarts,” said Ron, “he could be anywhere—miles away, by now.”

“That rain’s a bit sudden, don’t you think?” said Hermione.

Indeed, soft droplets had begun to patter on the nearest window. The three of them drifted closer, looking up at the clouds that had not been there this morning.

Ron grimaced. “You think it’s him?”

Before Hermione could reply, Harry nudged Ron hard. “Look!” He pointed down toward the figure sitting near the shore of the lake, apparently content to get drenched. “It’s got to be him. Let’s go!”

They ran downstairs and outside—past the crowd of students running _inside_ —and made their way toward the lake, the distant figure growing clearer as they approached.

And then, the next second, he was gone.

Harry stopped short, shoes squeaking in the slippery grass. “Great.”

They stood there for a moment, rain soaking through their clothes, before turning back toward the castle. They needed answers. They needed to let Merlin know that they were alive—that, one thousand five hundred years ago, he hadn’t let them down.


	17. Guess what happens when you pretend to be your own ancestor several times over? Administrative chaos

By the time the sun started to set on that first day back at Hogwarts, Professor Ambrose—Merlin—was still nowhere to be found. They even tried checking the Marauder’s Map and saw no sign of him. As Harry, Ron and Hermione searched the castle and its grounds, they tried to avoid Lupin as he conducted his own search; eventually, though, they stopped crossing his path. Harry could only assume he had gone to tell Dumbledore what had happened, which would not be good for either Merlin or the trio.

They had hoped he would reappear at dinner, but neither he nor Dumbledore were at the staff table that evening. Professor Lupin only arrived toward the end, stopping by the Gryffindor table briefly to give the trio a quiet message.

“Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office,” he said. “You’re not in trouble, but—well, you know what it’s about, I’m sure. Will you follow me?”

They nodded warily and followed, thankfully only attracting minimal attention from their classmates, since the crowd was already thinning out. Harry surreptitiously shoved the now-blank map in his back pocket. As they walked the now familiar path to the headmaster’s office, Harry began to worry that Merlin just wasn’t coming back—ever.

What on earth were they going to tell Dumbledore?

Lupin gave the password and all four of them climbed the narrow stairs to the office. The professor knocked: “Enter,” came the response.

“Good evening,” said Professor Dumbledore pleasantly, conjuring extra chairs for them with a wave of his wand. “Please, have a seat.”

Lupin remained standing. Pacing, actually.

“I trust you enjoyed your holiday,” Dumbledore continued. “It was thoughtful of you to deliver that letter to Professor Ambrose this morning. I don’t suppose you have spoken to him since then?”

“No, sir,” said Harry honestly.

“I see.” Dumbledore did not sound surprised. “We have been rather worried for him since he departed; as you know, the Dementors patrolling the perimeter of the school are not always the friendliest of creatures. Have you any idea where he might have gone?”

“No, sir.”

The ruins of Camelot were always a possibility, of course, but even if Harry could explain that to Dumbledore, the place would still be impossible to find.

“Ah. A pity. Well, one final question, if you don’t mind. What was the nature of this letter Professor Lupin has told me about? I do hope there was not some sort of emergency…”

“No—” Ron started to say, but Hermione stood on his foot.

“We don’t know, Professor,” she said. “It was in another language. Welsh, maybe.”

Harry nodded his agreement.

“What did you mean?” asked Professor Lupin suddenly. “Earlier, when you said ‘we know everything,’ weren’t you referring to something in the letter?”

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, unsure of what to say.

Dumbledore regarded them quietly over his half-moon spectacles. “If you know anything, you must tell us. Professor Ambrose could be in danger.”

“So could we,” said Lupin gravely. “If there’s another way into and out of the school, that could be how Black got in.”

Ron nearly jumped out of his seat to defend Merlin. “He would never have let someone in! He’s only ever protected us!”

“From what?” asked Dumbledore calmly.

But that hadn’t happened at Hogwarts—it hadn’t even happened in their time.

“The Dementors,” Harry began hesitantly, remembering his unconscious Patronus. “On the train—”

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” said Dumbledore.

Professor Ambrose stepped through the door, looking as cheerful as ever, his wand sticking precariously out of the pocket of his trousers. He smiled at the trio in greeting.

“Sorry to bother you, Headmaster, only it has come to my attention that many of my colleagues believe me to have disappeared quite mysteriously. I assure you, everything is perfectly fine.”

“You Disapparated!” Lupin exclaimed.

“Ah, no, that’s quite impossible,” Merlin replied easily. “The wards, you know. I’m afraid I was merely the victim of an unexpected Portkey.”

Oh, that was the story he was going with? All right, then.

Lupin looked suspicious. “A Portkey? But Hermione handed it directly to you. How is that possible?”

“Right—I believe it was the ink that was enchanted, not the paper itself. Ingenious, really.”

“And dangerous,” Lupin added, blatantly unconvinced.

“And where did this Portkey take you?” asked Dumbledore neutrally. “Were you able to discover its purpose?”

“I’m afraid not. I materialised in a field somewhere, but when there was no one there, I Disapparated. Most likely a prank of some kind—perpetrated by some old friends of mine, I presume.”

Lupin took a few steps closer to Ambrose to speak in a lower voice. “Martin, there’s an escaped murderer on the loose! If he can use this to get around the wards…”

“He can’t,” said Ambrose with certainty.

“Are you privy to facts that the rest of us are not?” asked Dumbledore.

Ambrose sighed deeply. “I know how fond you are of eaves,” he said to the room in general, “but if you would stop lurking under them and just come in, I’m sure we’d all be much more comfortable.”

Nothing happened for a moment. Lupin stared warily at Ambrose.

And then the door opened to admit Professor Snape.

“Headmaster,” he said, pretending as though he had not just been caught eavesdropping. “You asked for me?”

“Yes, Severus, thank you. Fortunately, however, as you can see, we have already located Professor Ambrose.”

Snape glanced at Ambrose, glower deepening when their eyes met. When he turned instead to the trio, Harry forced himself to maintain eye contact. He wasn’t afraid of him, even if it _did_ sometimes seem like he could read minds.

“Stop!” Ambrose exclaimed, inserting himself between them.

“What’s going on?” asked Lupin.

“They’re children,” said Ambrose, stepping away toward Dumbledore as his voice took on a hint of that ethereal quality that set Harry’s teeth on edge. “You can’t let him do that.”

Dumbledore looked as if he were about to speak, but Snape started first.

“Then _you_ shouldn’t force children to keep secrets for you,” he hissed. “They know something about you. Something dangerous.”

“What are you talking about?” said Ambrose, glancing uncertainly between the three of them. “That’s impossible, they—”

“He _can_ read minds!” Hermione exclaimed suddenly. “You’re—” She gulped as she looked up at Snape, not quite meeting his gaze. “You’re a Legilimens, aren’t you?”

“People can _read minds_ now?” Harry hissed. “No one tells me anything!”

“And _he_ is an Occlumens,” Snape accused, staring intently at Ambrose. “The strongest one I’ve encountered in recent memory. That shouldn’t be possible for a _Squib_ , should it, Headmaster?”

“I never _said_ I was a Squib,” said Ambrose, a little weakly.

“Are you a Legilimens too?” Lupin asked him quickly. “Is that how you knew he was there?”

“No—I mean, not really—get _out_ , Severus—”

“Just tell them!” Ron urged him. “We know you didn’t let Black in on Halloween, but you can find him, can’t you?”

“Tell them what? You three have been acting weird all day, and I don’t know where he is—”

Harry had no idea whether Merlin was lying or not, but he was the most powerful wizard to ever live; certainly he would be able to find an escaped prisoner with ease, wouldn’t he?

Harry only realised what he had accidentally revealed when Snape’s eyes widened. He took a step backward, glancing between Harry, Ron and Hermione again. Hermione covered her eyes in a desperate attempt not to give Merlin away.

Ambrose sighed. “What is it now? Why are you looking at me like—" He frowned, turning from Snape to Harry, Ron and Hermione. “Hang on,” he said slowly.

“This is a trick,” Snape muttered.

“Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

“Have—” Ambrose squinted intently at Harry. “Have we met before?”

_“Yes,”_ said Ron emphatically.

Then Ambrose muttered something, barely audible, as if reciting: “Redhead, curly hair, glasses…”

Almost frantically, Hermione dug in her bag for the picture she had shown Harry and Ron earlier and handed it shakily to Ambrose.

He went pale again, tracing the image with one finger.

“Gaius…” he whispered, and at last, they knew for certain that it was him. Merlin was alive.

“I’d forgotten what he looked like,” he murmured. “Wait. Hang on.” He shook his head rapidly. “This is a photograph. What the… This is a photograph of—how—” He looked up at them, then back at the picture. “It was a _camera!_ It was—what on earth—it was you! This is you!”

He grinned widely, finally looking at them with recognition in his eyes. “Ari!” he exclaimed, and Harry couldn’t help but hug him. They were back. Merlin had saved them.

Harry broke away from the comforting glow of Merlin’s magic and looked jubilantly at Ron and Hermione, who grinned back.

Merlin laughed. “You made it, it worked! You’re alive!”

“Took you long enough,” said Ron gruffly.

“What on earth is going on?” Lupin interjected.

Merlin put a hand to his forehead, still staring at the picture. “Just give me a moment. I’m a little busy losing my mind.”

“ _You_ are?” Ron scoffed. “Imagine how we felt!”

“Oh,” said Merlin faintly. “That’s why you kept asking what my name was.”

“Professor Ambrose,” said Dumbledore sternly. “Would you care to explain?”

“Er…” Merlin glanced from Dumbledore to the trio, to Lupin, to Snape’s terrified face. “I’d really rather not.”

“You’ve _got_ to tell them now!” Harry insisted.

“You’re joking, right?” said Merlin. “Look at Severus, he’s catatonic! I wouldn’t have even told you three, if I’d known any better at the time.”

“Well,” said Hermione reasonably, “you couldn’t have known how important you’d be.”

That earned her a scrutinising look from Dumbledore.

“But I’m not him!” Merlin argued. “I mean… I’m not what you think I am. I was born a nobody, and I’m going to stay that way.”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” said Ron. “You never were. Not even back then.”

“Whatever is going on,” Lupin interrupted, “we have a right to know. We're supposed to be friends. How are you so certain that Black can’t exploit this loophole?”

“He can’t!” Harry insisted.

“But you already know how he’s getting in, Harry, I’ve told you!” Hermione exploded. “He’s using the—the you-know-what!”

“He can’t be!” Harry hissed. “In fact, it was probably…” He hesitated, not wanting to give away the existence of the Marauder’s Map but suddenly quite certain that Merlin himself had created it. “Professor Ambrose? Do you… do you know Moony?”

Unfortunately, Merlin just looked at him blankly. “I’m not sure…”

But Harry was certain he had said the wrong thing when Lupin descended on them with barely concealed alarm. “Where did you hear that?” he asked quickly.

“Er… nowhere…”

It was then that Lupin caught sight of the apparently blank parchment sticking out of Harry’s pocket.

“Hand over the map.”

“How did you—”

“You should have handed it in the minute you found it, Harry, what were you thinking?”

Harry reluctantly gave the parchment to Lupin, hoping he wouldn’t know how to use it…

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Lupin muttered quickly.

Now Harry was even more confused.

“What is that thing?” asked Merlin as the map bloomed to life with ink.

“I know you’re not telling us everything,” said Lupin shortly. “How did you Apparate past the wards? Or perhaps you’re merely disguising yourself as someone else.”

“What? No, I’m not! Why on earth would I do that?”

“Of course, if you are,” Lupin continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “this map will reveal your true name.”

“Ooh,” Merlin winced. “Yikes. No, listen, I honestly don’t know what it’s going to say on there, but I’m just me, I’m not pretending to be anyone else, I swear. This is my real face and all that. I just changed my name because my original one was too weird…”

“Save it.”

Merlin shifted his weight awkwardly as Dumbledore stood up from his desk to look over Lupin’s shoulder. Lupin hardly even took notice as he searched through the pages.

“Harry,” said Merlin neutrally, “what exactly _does_ it say on there?”

“Er…” Harry winced. “I don’t know. I couldn’t find you.”

“Merlin’s beard,” said Lupin. “What’s all this?”

“What?”

They all crowded around to try and look. The map displayed Dumbledore’s office, but Harry could hardly identify it at first, the room was so crowded with names. Harry found his own, and then Ron’s and Hermione’s, and the teachers’… and then there was row upon row of names he didn’t recognise, most of them beginning with M—and all of them associated with one dot.

Dumbledore hummed. “This appears,” he said, “to be every known member of the Ambrose family, along with a few other unrelated individuals. The Ministry records of the family are sparse, since its members are rarely seen in public…”

Merlin sighed. “I’m standing right here.”

“What on earth is going on here?” asked Lupin, but it was half-rhetorical, and no one responded.

Harry edged closer to read the names, though they were written so small that he couldn’t make all of them out.

_Martin Ambrose. Emerson Ambrose. Marilyn Ambrose. Michael Smith._

And further down, _Matthew Ambrosius. Madeleine Ambrosius. Arlin of Ambrose. Milo of Ambrose._

He watched the names change through the centuries, eyes drifting down the page along with Lupin’s and Dumbledore’s.

_Matias of Ealdor. Mortimer the Wise. Myron the Brave. Emory the Beloved._

And then finally, at the very bottom, his first name, his true name—followed by the name he was given before he was even born.

_Merlin._

_Emrys._

They all looked up at the man with fifteen centuries’ worth of names.

He managed a sheepish grin. “So… what does it say exactly?”

Ron whistled lowly. “Everything.”

“The map never lies,” Lupin muttered to himself. He turned the parchment around to show Merlin, who started when he saw the endless list of names.

“Wow,” he said. “Okay, so that’s an unforeseen complication. Is my real name even on here?”

“It appears to be sorted chronologically,” said Dumbledore helpfully.

“Ah. Right. Well, now you see the problem, I suppose.”

“You mean—” Lupin cleared his throat. “You mean it’s true?”

“Impossible,” Snape insisted.

“Sorry…?” Merlin tried with a shrug. “You do know Emrys means immortal, right? I sort of thought somebody would figure it out eventually, especially with everyone being so nosy about it—Severus, stop poking at my brain or I _will_ invade yours.”

“So,” said Lupin. “Not a Squib, then.”

“Er, no.”

“This must be some elaborate hoax,” said Snape, looking over Lupin’s shoulder at the map. This was probably the closest they had ever physically been without getting into an altercation of some kind.

They were all staring at Merlin again, who had busied himself stroking Fawkes’s feathers—he must have appeared while they were distracted. Merlin looked blankly back at them.

“I mean, you do see why I couldn’t say anything, yeah?”


	18. Don't make assumptions when it comes to life and death

“You _rounded down!_ I spent the entire sixteenth century wandering the British Isles looking around for a couple of thirteen-year-olds whose names I can’t even bloody spell because you _rounded down_ to a thousand years instead of fifteen hundred? We didn’t have phone books in the sixteenth century! Or phones. Obviously.” Merlin paused, finally sitting back down. “Anyway, at a certain point, I had to assume you were dead. Which, by the way,” he added, standing up again and gesturing pointedly at all of them, “is only fair, since all of you just assumed _I_ was dead instead of actually checking. This is what happens. I turn up unexpectedly. Not my fault I’m not dead.”

“Somebody stop him,” Ron whispered as Merlin continued pacing vaguely.

“I heard that,” he retorted. “And I am _old_ , all right? Give me a break here, I’m allowed to be a bit weird.”

Harry snorted. “You can’t use that as an excuse, you were always like this.”

Merlin glared at him.

“We’re still here?” Lupin interjected.

“Yes. Right. Sorry, Remus, I realise this must be weird for you. In my defence,” he quickly added, “I never meant for any of you to find out.”

“Do you have any evidence,” said Dumbledore slowly, “to back up your claims?”

Merlin snorted. “What claims? I don’t have any claims. You went looking for answers and stumbled upon the truth, how’s that my problem?”

“I mean,” said Hermione, “if you did have proof, this whole thing might go a little faster.”

He shrugged. “Well, what am I supposed to do, show them my birth certificate?”

“The map never lies,” Lupin muttered again.

“Stop saying that. I suppose I could show you a couple of memories, although those can be faked. Could let Severus read my mind, but he’d probably be scarred for life. War, you know. Nasty business.”

“I’ve seen war,” Snape sneered. “We all have.”

Merlin shook his head sadly. “Not like this, you haven’t. Not centuries’ worth. Not the constantly changing weapons that only ever seem to get worse. Not the _smell_. Not having half your face blown off and feeling it regrow as you can only lay in the mud with people running over the top of you. Not digging through a pit of bodies to try and reach the one who’s screaming for help, only for him to have suffocated under the corpses of his brothers by the time you reach him.”

No one spoke. Merlin winced. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get quite so specific. But that’s why I’m here. To try and stop _this_ war.”

“And what of the last one?” Snape accused. “If you’re as powerful as you say, surely you could have stopped the Dark Lord.”

“You can’t protect someone you can’t find, Severus,” he said pointedly. “Since I’m sure that’s what you’re really asking. But I was just too late. There are other countries in the world, you know. By the time I got back, Tom Riddle had gone into hiding. The only thing I could do was pick off his Death Eaters one by one, interrogate them, and hope one of them would know something. They didn’t.”

“What are you going to do now?” asked Lupin quietly.

“Try and prevent the futures I’ve seen. There’s an important follower of his that will come back to him this year, but I don’t know who, or when, or why.”

“Enlightening,” Snape remarked.

“Yeah, you try interpreting vague visions from a rock and see how well _you_ do. All I saw was a decrepit house, a dog and a cat.”

Hermione raised her hand. “Erm, I have a cat.”

Merlin perked up. “Orange?”

“Yeah…”

“Good. Listen to it. I mean, you should generally listen to cats as a rule, but that one specifically should know what’s safe and what isn’t, so that might come in handy.”

“But it tried to eat Scabbers!” Ron protested. “It’s giving him anxiety!”

“Who’s Scabbers?”

“My rat.”

Merlin frowned. “Difficult to tell if that’s important or just normal cat behaviour.”

“How do you know all of this?” asked Dumbledore.

“Crystal Cave.”

Hermione jolted upright. “ _The_ Crystal Cave? You mean it’s real?”

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“According to legend, it’s the source of all magic. It’s said to exist outside of time and space, so no one but—well, _him_ —can reach it. Some stories say that either Merlin or Morgana is trapped there for all eternity, but… obviously one of those isn’t true.”

“Neither of them are,” said Merlin. “Morgana’s dead. But the part about it existing outside of the normal plane of reality is true. I’m the only one that can find it.”

“That would admittedly be compelling evidence to indicate that you are, indeed, the legendary Merlin,” said Dumbledore.

Merlin raised an eyebrow (Harry suppressed a grin at realising that Merlin had finally mastered that). “Don’t call me legendary when I’m sitting right here. And by the way, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. _Maybe_ I will bring you with me next time, but it’s unlikely you would see anything in the crystals anyway. It’s actually very rare to get a vision, but they…” He waved his hand and made a face— “ _like_ me.”

“So…” said Harry. “Our warning didn’t help, then? About Morgana?”

Merlin frowned as if trying to remember what Harry was talking about.

“We left you a note,” said Ron. “Right before you sent us here.”

“Oh, right! You told me not to trust her. Turns out, that wasn’t really the problem.” He shook his head. “I already knew the prophecies about her, and because of that, I never helped her when she needed me. It was _me_ that drove her away, in the end. Mordred, too.” He sighed. “Trust your friends. Trust your instincts. That’s where I failed.”

“Then trust _us_ ,” Lupin implored. “Tell us what you know. I don’t know who you are, but I do know you Apparated past the wards; and if you can do it, someone else can.”

“No, they _can’t_ ,” Merlin insisted. “I can only do that because Hogwarts knows who I am. It’s semi-sentient, and its magic recognises mine, just like Fawkes did.” He gestured to the bird still sitting on his shoulder. “Creatures of magic tend to do that.”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. “What do you mean, they recognise you? If anyone in the wizarding world knew Merlin’s true face…”

“Exactly!” said Merlin. “Do you see why I stay hidden? But that’s beside the point, they don’t know me as Merlin.”

“What are you talking about?” said Lupin, rubbing at his face with one hand. “None of this makes any sense.”

“He’s Emrys!” Ron exclaimed, jumping at the chance. “Magic Incarnate. The Druids worshipped him—"

“Don’t tell them that!” Merlin quickly interrupted. “My reputation’s inflated enough as it is, thank you.”

“But they don’t believe you!”

“We most certainly do not,” Snape drawled.

“Severus—” Lupin began.

Merlin interrupted with a groan. “Not this _again_. You know what?” He stood up abruptly. “We’re all going. Right now.”

Nobody moved.

“I’m serious. Anybody who wants to come with me to the Crystal Cave, now’s your chance. Otherwise, quit harassing me about who I am and am not.”

The trio jumped out of their seats; Dumbledore, after scrutinising Merlin for a moment, rose to his feet and made his way to the other side of the desk. Snape and Lupin joined him somewhat more reluctantly.

“Right then.” Merlin nodded. “Two rules: don’t touch _anything;_ and absolutely no magic. I don’t want any funny business interfering with my ability to keep the Cave out of the wrong hands. Not that I think you’d ever be able to get there without my help, but you can never be too careful.”

“What means of transport will we be using?” asked Dumbledore.

“I don’t have a name for it,” Merlin replied.

Suddenly, a harsh wind kicked up all around them, making it difficult to either see or hear. As Harry’s feet lifted from the floor, he reached wildly out for something to hold onto, but found nothing; and then, just as quick as it had come, the wind was gone. All seven of them stood exactly as they had been before (albeit more windblown), except that they now found themselves in the middle of a dark, forested ravine.

“A little warning would have been nice,” Ron muttered, looking slightly queasy.

“Sorry,” said Merlin. “Didn’t want anyone to start getting ideas.”

Harry patted his pocket, but found nothing there. “Where’s my wand?”

“I left them behind.”

A chorus of protests erupted, over which Merlin said loudly, “Look, I warned you no magic; now you’re just bound to your promise. This place is more important than your temporary discomfort, and I’m obviously not going to let anything happen to you. If you don’t trust me, fine: I can send you back to Hogwarts right now.”

When there was no answer, he turned and walked through a low hole in the rock face that Harry was entirely certain had not been there a half-second ago. Nonetheless, he shrugged and stepped through behind him.

Crossing the threshold gave Harry a strange sense of vertigo, as if his centre of gravity had abruptly turned upside-down and then shifted right back again. But he only stood there in the entrance for a brief moment, wobbling on two feet that were still firmly on solid ground. With unexpected difficulty, he took another step forward, and oxygen rushed back into his lungs. Harry took a deep breath of air that seemed somehow _more_ fresh than the air outside, but he barely remarked that fact, too busy looking around in unadulterated awe at the brightly glowing crystals of all shapes and sizes that adorned walls, outcroppings, and stalagmites. There seemed even to be a slight hum in the air, more a feeling than a sound.

Harry’s reverie was broken when Merlin took him by the shoulder to gently move him aside, pulling him deeper into the cave as the others slowly made their way inside. They walked ploddingly, as if wading through water, before stopping dead in their tracks with sharp intakes of breath as they laid eyes upon the sparkling structure.

“Don’t touch anything,” Merlin reiterated. “Any one of these crystals could drag you in and seriously hurt you, so don’t stare for too long, either. Come on,” he added, turning a corner and disappearing entirely from sight. “Let’s go over here, where there’s more space.”

They followed his voice, and despite the fact that he was mere metres away, attempting to navigate the Cave was a dizzying experience, almost like traversing a hall of mirrors.

“Over here,” said Merlin, and Harry turned. He was standing in a larger cavern which seemed to have an impossibly high ceiling. The stone floor of the cave was encrusted with tiny glowing fragments like stars. “Satisfied?” said Merlin when they were all gathered.

None of them were in a fit state to respond, but Lupin nodded vaguely, looking up into the crystal sky.

Merlin shrugged. “May as well see what they have to say, as long as I’m here. You lot, don’t move.” He peered into the nearest crystal for a moment, standing stock-still, eyes glowing silver in the pale light from the stones.

Harry, in an effort not to look directly at the crystals, turned his eyes downward, rearranging his feet so that he wasn’t standing directly on any of the fragments—it seemed somehow like sacrilege. That’s when he noticed that one of the crystals was slightly different from the others, shining brighter and with a slightly different hue. It looked like there was something in the centre of it… he leaned closer to look, somehow getting much closer than he meant to. There was a white orb inside the crystal, mottled grey and surrounded by darkness and wispy clouds… It was the moon. The clouds drifted lazily past as Harry watched, and he thought he heard some faint sound, like a distant, distorted scream—

“Harry!”

He was jerked awake by Merlin’s hands as they lifted him up from where he had been kneeling on the ground; when had that happened?

“It’s all right,” Harry said faintly. Then, stronger: “I’m fine. Sorry, I didn’t mean to look at it… I don’t know what happened. I only saw the moon.”

Merlin looked grim. “It’s okay. You seem to be fine—we’d know if you weren’t, trust me. Come on, let’s just get out of here.”

He led them all from the cave at a slightly quicker pace, and they followed him through the gap in the stone to step back out into the ravine—except it wasn’t a ravine anymore. The trees that had once shrouded it were gone, and they stood instead in an empty clearing, a brook babbling off somewhere to their left.

Harry whipped around, only to see that there was nowhere they could possibly have come out of. The cave was gone.

He shot a confused glance at Merlin, who was busy counting heads. “…five, six, seven,” he muttered. “Good. The Cave sometimes likes to absorb people without anyone noticing, but it looks like we’re all accounted for.”

At their horrified looks, he shrugged. “What? I told you it was dangerous. Besides, I would’ve gone back and retrieved you if anyone got left behind, obviously.”

“What did you—” Harry began, but was cut off by another gust of wind.

And abruptly, they were back in the headmaster’s office. Ron practically fell into his chair, holding a hand to his head.

“Sorry, what were you about to say?” asked Merlin, unbothered.

“What did you see?” he repeated, by now used to his bizarre antics. “Anything important?”

“Not sure. I think it was the Shrieking Shack, actually. You three were there, and Remus and Severus. It all seemed very confrontational.”

Harry frowned. “But that sounds like a real vision. All I saw was the moon. Does that mean something?”

Merlin shrugged. “Probably, but I couldn’t tell you what. I’m surprised you saw anything at all, really. It’s very rare. And it’s not based on magical ability, either,” he said, glancing at Dumbledore. “The crystals decide if they need to show you something.”

“Nevertheless,” said the headmaster, “the legends do not do it justice; nor do they you,” he added, bowing his head slightly in apparent acceptance of the truth.

“This is simply incredible,” Lupin murmured. “Martin, you…” He trailed off.

“I didn’t want to lie to you,” said Merlin in that earnest way of his. “It’s just that—well, telling you the truth would be so much worse. It’s not your secret to keep.”

“Rest assured,” said Dumbledore, once again quite calm, “we have no intention of informing the public of your whereabouts.”

“Well, that’s good news,” said Merlin, though he didn’t sound particularly concerned. “Now if everyone’s satisfied, can we finally get some sleep? My being me doesn’t excuse me from having to teach tomorrow.”

“Indeed,” agreed Dumbledore, “it is likely past curfew for the students. But would you, Professor Lupin, and Professor Snape please remain behind a few moments?”

Merlin sighed and took a seat. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you three tomorrow, then,” he said to the trio. “Glad you’re alive. Try not to act weird.”

“We’ll do our best,” said Harry, standing to go. “At least we don’t have to sleep in a sty anymore.”

Merlin shot him a glare. “Hey, I cleaned up when you got there. Not my fault there was always armour all over the floor.”


	19. Allow me to reiterate...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Sorry the chapter's arriving later than usual today. But while I'm here, I'll just let you know that the chapter count is still estimated at 25, but it may change slightly. I'll mention it in the notes if I change it so you'll know what to expect. As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

On Monday, Hermione was inordinately excited about going to a class taught by Merlin, given that they had already been doing that all year. Harry refrained from poking fun at her _too_ much, though, since he was looking forward to it nearly as much as she was. He only wished Merlin was teaching something more practical so that they could study actual magic under him instead of just history.

During breakfast, the staff table was restless with various low, rushed conversations that Merlin studiously pretended not to notice; Harry was fairly sure the commotion had something to do with his sudden disappearance—or what had happened afterwards. Dumbledore had promised not to tell anyone about Merlin’s existence, but Harry knew as well as anyone that Professor McGonagall in particular had a nose for exactly this sort of nonsense.

Their first class that morning, Defence Against the Dark Arts, reminded Harry of Professor Lupin’s promise to begin teaching him the Patronus charm, but so far, the professor had not brought it up again; noticing Lupin’s absentmindedness as he began to tidy up after class, Harry decided to wait to ask about it until he seemed a little more calm about the whole ‘Merlin’ situation.

Snape wasn’t taking the revelation any better, mind you, but his frustration merely resulted in his being a worse and more vindictive teacher than usual, which was remarkable to essentially no one.

But that afternoon, they filed into History of Magic with renewed interest, only to find an honest-to-goodness bonfire in the middle of the classroom. Harry would have been surprised, if he hadn’t given up the emotion entirely a number of weeks ago.

“Afternoon, class,” said the fire.

The trio calmly took their seats.

Many of the other students jumped in shock, but they were by now so desensitized to Merlin’s—or Professor Ambrose’s—oddities that, fortunately, no one fled from the room outright.

“Go on then, settle down,” said Merlin, emerging from the fire and brushing soot from his clothing. “Just fixing some finishing touches.”

As Merlin turned around to write a list of spells on the blackboard, Harry noted that his handwriting, while recognisable, was significantly messier than when he had last seen it in Camelot, and absently wondered whether this had anything to do with his being an apprentice to a healer.

“As is probably obvious by now,” he was saying, “today’s lesson is on witch burnings in the late medieval and early modern periods. I’ll go over a few of the related spells in use at that time and their effects on flame, hence the bonfire. Mr. Finnegan, if you would be so kind as to put the wand down for the duration of this particular lesson,” he added without turning around. “Of course, the actual terms ‘witch,’ ‘wizard,’ ‘warlock,’ ‘sorcerer,’ et cetera have changed repeatedly over the years, so the phrase ‘witch hunt’ is somewhat misleading—but I am attempting not to turn today’s lesson into an extended tangent, so I’ll leave it at that for now.”

“What’s a warlock?” asked a Slytherin boy.

“Don’t be stupid,” said another. “That’s what Merlin was.”

The professor’s sigh could be heard even over the mumbling roar of the fire. “Yes,” he said wearily, returning to face the class, “and so is Professor Dumbledore. Among others. To answer your question, the term originally referred to someone whose magical abilities were bestowed by some higher power, or at least thought to be. Today, it generally means an exceptionally skilled witch or wizard.”

He trailed off toward the end of his sentence, rifling through his pockets and the contents of his desk for something.

“Your wand’s behind your ear, professor,” said Hermione helpfully.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Miss Granger. Yes, Mr. Thomas?”

“So is it true, then?” Dean asked. “About Merlin’s father being a demon?”

Merlin dropped his wand.

“No, it most certainly is not,” he said quickly as he retrieved it. “Not everyone who lives in a cave is a demon.”

“Wait, what—"

“So…” Lavender Brown interrupted, her hand in the air, “when are we going to learn about Merlin, then?”

A look crossed the professor’s face that Harry was now recognised as exasperation, where before he had imagined some sort of bitterness about the topic of Merlin.

“Soon,” he said. “After your research projects are done. I might call in Professor Binns to help with that lesson.”

A chorus of groans ensued.

“All right, never mind, then! Just an idea. Now, if we could get back to the topic at hand, please… I really thought you lot would be more interested in the bonfire in the middle of the room.”

The lesson continued without further interruptions apart from the obligatory fire Seamus started (which Merlin put out by merely glaring at it, but fortunately the class assumed it had gone out on its own, and Harry was beginning to wonder how he had missed the obvious signs of abnormal magic for the last several months).

As usual, several students stayed behind after class to ask questions, so Harry, Ron and Hermione headed back to Gryffindor Tower in the free time before dinner, resolving to meet with Merlin again later.

“We _really_ need to do something about our project,” Hermione sighed as she perched on one of the armchairs in the common room, pulling books and papers out of her bag with manic focus.

Ron hummed. “Maybe we can ask Mer—”

“Shh!” Hermione hissed.

“Maybe we can ask _Professor Ambrose_ , then, to give us an extension or something.”

Hermione let out a distressed sound at the idea of even sanctioned lateness.

“Or maybe we can just ask him to help us find some books,” Harry suggested. “We can still write about the Druids if we want.”

They were interrupted by a commotion of hissing and spitting from the other side of the room, where Crookshanks was zooming through a group of first years, back arched and fur standing on end. But Scabbers had a head start, and darted under Ron’s armchair before Crookshanks could reach him; the cat hissed some more as he swiped his paw under the edge.

“Scabbers!” Ron cried.

“Crookshanks, no!” Hermione dove to pick the cat up, petting him urgently in an effort to calm him.

Ron scrambled to retrieve the now-shaking rat, cradling him carefully in cupped hands. “Look at him!” he shouted at Hermione. “He’s terrified! That little monster’s going to kill him! Can’t you keep it contained?”

“Crookshanks deserves to be let out once in a while too, Ron!” Hermione retorted. “This is exactly why rats have plastic balls to run around in.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not going to keep him in a cage, I don’t care if it _is_ round—”

“Guys!” Harry interrupted. “I can’t do this anymore. Obviously, neither of you are going to do anything about it, so _I’m_ going down to the Great Hall. Anybody who’s not shouting, feel free to come with me.” He stalked off without another word, finding it difficult to care, at this particular moment, whether either of his friends followed.

He huffed down the stairs in silence, but was early enough to dinner that it was easy to find an empty spot at the Gryffindor table. All the professors had already arrived, though—except Lupin, who was chronically absent.

Only a minute or so later, Ron silently joined him, still fuming, but he nonetheless shot Harry a slightly apologetic look. He removed Scabbers from his pocket to feed him a few scraps from the table. A short time later, Hermione sat gingerly across from them and did not comment on the rat.

The tension began to ease as they ate (and as Hermione read); Ron started talking to Harry again, and then Hermione, and then reluctantly, they once again exchanged a few superficial words with each other.

Merlin, Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, who had been engaged in conversation throughout the meal, were the first to leave; but to the surprise of the trio, Merlin stopped abruptly as he passed them.

He gave Ron a peculiar look; McGonagall just glanced between them bemusedly.

“Hey,” said Merlin casually. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

Ron instantly grew wary, shielding Scabbers with one hand. “This is my rat,” he said. “Scabbers.”

“Hm,” said Merlin slowly. He scratched his head. “You sure about that?” he finally asked.

Ron looked at him askance. “Er, yeah?”

Merlin frowned. “I dunno what that is, but it’s not a rat.”

“Professor Ambrose,” said McGonagall, reaching the limit of her exasperation.

Merlin looked at her, then back at Scabbers. “Could I see him for a moment, please? I promise I won’t hurt him.”

Ron was looking increasingly dubious, but eventually handed him over with gentle hands. Scabbers squirmed a bit in Merlin’s firm but careful grip.

For his part, Merlin stared intently at the creature—and then, alarmingly, a broad grin grew on his face.

“I knew it,” he whispered.

“Professor Ambrose!” Professor McGonagall insisted, looking bewildered.

Merlin laughed, and the rat squirmed a little more urgently. _“I knew it!”_ he cried again.

Professor Dumbledore started to interject then, but before he could, Merlin said calmly, without removing his gaze from Scabbers, “I know what you did. Now tell me the plan, little rat.”

Students and teachers both goggled at him. They were beginning to attract attention from nearby Gryffindors now, but Merlin was already walking away. The trio scrambled to their feet to follow him from the Great Hall, Ron blurting out half-formed protests.

“Stop rambling and answer the question,” said Merlin sharply, still holding the rat up to his face.

“What is going on?” Professor McGonagall asked rather frantically, Dumbledore trailing mildly in her wake.

“Yes, obviously I can hear you,” said Merlin, still carrying on half a conversation with a rat. He paused again, then scoffed. “You’re thinking ‘what am I thinking,’ what kind of a stupid question is that?”

Merlin shook his head, then finally addressed the professors again. “I think we should move this conversation to my office,” he said grimly. “And—does anyone know where Remus is?”

Scabbers abruptly began to struggle fiercely against Merlin’s grip.

“I’ll fetch him,” said McGonagall briskly, seeming to grasp the urgency of the situation despite the fact that none of them knew what was going on.

Merlin nodded absently, _still_ watching the rat, and strode up the stairs as McGonagall split off down the hall. The trio followed Merlin hurriedly, too busy catching up to ask questions. They reached his office quickly, and Merlin set about lugging a metal box to his desk with one hand; he dropped Scabbers inside and shut the lid with a heavy clunk and the click of a lock.

“What are you doing!” Ron yelped.

“Sorry,” said Merlin distractedly. “Bit difficult to explain.” He waved a hand over the box, and in an instant, it became transparent as glass. “Now, you’ll be able to breathe in there,” he told Scabbers sternly, “but you can’t escape and you can’t break it, so don’t try anything.”

“Professor Ambrose,” said Dumbledore serenely, “what exactly is the nature of the problem here?”

“Ah.” Merlin looked between Dumbledore and the rat. “You see—”

But he was saved from having to respond by the arrival of McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, and a particularly frail-looking Professor Lupin.

“Remus, there you are,” said Merlin brightly. “I have good news and bad news.”

He pushed the rat in the box across his desk toward Lupin and waited expectantly.

Lupin stared at Merlin as if he had lost the remainder of his marbles, which was entirely possible at this point.

Merlin, on the other hand, looked at Lupin as if he were slightly dense. “I found Peter,” he explained. “And I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you all, yet again: if you haven’t found the body, don’t assume they’re dead.”

Lupin eyed the box intently, looking as pale as if he had seen a ghost. Inside it, the rat almost… flickered, as if it had almost but not quite disappeared.

“Hoi!” Merlin reproached, tapping the box. “I warned you about that. You can’t change back in there.

“Peter?” said Lupin weakly.

Everyone stared at the rat with expressions ranging from bewilderment to horror.

McGonagall, a member of the latter group, said, “You can’t possibly be suggesting…”

“I’m afraid so,” said Merlin. “Look at his missing toe.”

“He’s always been missing a toe!” Ron protested. “Give him back, you’re scaring him!”

“How long have you had Scabbers, Ron?” Merlin asked calmly.

“Since I came to Hogwarts! But he was my brother Percy’s rat before that. I don’t know how old he is, but he doesn’t have long left at this rate—”

“He’s in his thirties,” said Merlin grimly. “Look, Ron, there’s no easy way to explain this, but Scabbers isn’t a real rat.” He looked him in the eye. “You know I can read minds.”

Ron nodded slowly.

“Well,” he said gently, “this rat speaks English. He’s been trying not to answer my questions, but he can’t help it. He told me his name, Ron: he’s an Animagus called Peter Pettigrew, a man who lost a finger and who has been missing for years. I’d force him to transform so you could see for yourself, but I won’t risk letting him out of this box. He’s… dangerous. He’s killed people.”

Ron slumped down into the nearest chair.

“He’s—” Harry stammered. “But Pettigrew is dead. Sirius Black killed him, that’s what he was in Azkaban for.”

Merlin sighed. “I never believed that. I knew Sirius—not well, I doubt he even remembers me. He would never betray his friends. But I couldn’t prove anything. I couldn’t even find Sirius to speak to him.”

“Black has been in prison for twelve years,” said Madam Pomfrey. “You can’t have known him; you would have been a child at the time.”

Merlin grimaced. “I’m older than I look. Remus, you know him. Can you confirm this is Pettigrew?”

Lupin nodded. “It must be. It’s true, his Animagus was a rat… and that’s the same finger they found. But that means…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but Merlin nodded his agreement.

“Either way,” said Professor McGonagall, “We cannot keep him locked up in that box all night. And furthermore, should the students really be here for this?”

“He killed my parents!” Harry snapped. “And whoever he is, he’s been hiding in Ron’s pocket for three years—there’s no way any of us are sleeping now!”

“Precisely,” Merlin calmly agreed. “I would imagine this particular situation warrants an exception.”

Harry was momentarily surprised at the tacit acquiescence Merlin received, even from Dumbledore, before abruptly remembering that he was no longer a peasant—or a servant.


	20. See? Some of that accumulated junk DID eventually come in handy

As the adults argued, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat around Merlin’s desk, watching the rat in the box, who was watching them back. Despite his significant involvement in the current predicament, Merlin had somehow disentangled himself from the argument and was now rifling through his drawers in search of something while the other professors largely ignored him. He had lit a few lamps now that the night was growing darker, and was carrying one of them around the room to help him in his search. It appeared to be an electric Muggle lamp, actually, judging by the cord that was trailing behind it on the stone floor everywhere Merlin went. Harry happened to know that there were no electrical outlets in Hogwarts. He also happened to have eyes, which told him that the cord wasn’t plugged in to anything at all and probably never had been. Neither of these facts appeared to have any effect on Merlin or his perfectly functional lamp.

The quarrel between the teachers was interrupted by the abrupt, unmistakeable sound of a telephone ringing.

Harry also happened to know that there were none of these in Hogwarts, either.

Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall jumped at the noise, while the others looked around bemusedly for the source.

“Erm,” said Merlin, putting the lamp down. “Excuse me.” He stretched his arms out in front of him and waved them through the air as if searching blindly for something. The phone rang again.

“Ah!” With a grin, Merlin plucked an ordinary landline telephone from mid-air. “Hello?” he said into the receiver.

Harry’s eyes followed the curling, beige cord, which seemed to stretch out to some source, but which became invisible halfway across the room.

“I told you not to call me at this number,” said Merlin irritably. “It’s only for emergencies.”

He rolled his eyes as he listened to the response, not seeming to notice that no one was arguing anymore. “That’s a minor inconvenience at best,” he snorted. “Just go to the neighbour and ask her.” A pause. “That’s because you _are_.” He grinned as the volume on the other end increased audibly. “Yes, well, you’ve done more dangerous things than that, I’m sure you can handle it…”

He trailed off, frowning down at Scabbers for a moment. “Actually, you know what? I’ll come back tonight and fix it, but I need you to do something for me first. You know that room where I keep all the junk?”

The volume increased again. “Well, _you_ clean it if it bothers you so much,” Merlin interrupted. “Look, I need you to go in there and get a piece of chalk. It—shut up, I’m telling you. It’s not ordinary chalk, so be careful not to break it. It’s sitting up on the top ledge of the bookshelf, do you see it?” He scratched his head in apparent confusion at the response. “No, not that, the other side of the room… Yes, well it’s your fault for not listening in the first—”

Suddenly, Merlin pulled the receiver back to glare at it. He sighed before putting it back to his ear, then growled, “Did you break it?” He waited. “You sure? All right, good. Put it in that bag I gave you so you don’t lose it. Now, we’re a bit short on time here, so you should probably borrow my broom, and definitely don’t forget your Dementor repellent—no, I’ve told you, we’re not connected to the Floo here. We’re not connected to the phone lines, either, which is why I warned you about—Yes, thank you, I can see it’s getting dark, which is why you need to hurry. That, and I have a mass murderer sitting in a box on my desk.”

With that, he hung up.

“Serves him right,” he muttered.

Everyone was still staring, each with a fair number of questions in mind.

Professor McGonagall was the first to break the silence. “How in Merlin’s name—?”

“Wait a second…” said Merlin, half to himself. He was staring out the window with a distinct squint, seemingly trying to remember something. “That's not good…”

Harry joined him and followed his gaze to the sky, where the moon was hanging bright and full among sparse clouds. “What are you talking about?”

“There was something I was supposed to—”

Eyes widening, Merlin glanced toward the other window, where Professor Lupin had been standing. He was still there, but had gone strangely rigid, and his eyes seemed to turn dark in the harsh moonlight.

“Remus—?” said Merlin carefully, stepping around Harry to approach Lupin.

For a fraction of a second, Lupin met his eyes, expression shifting into something like panic, before his face went blank and he started to shake all over as if suffering some kind of seizure; even his hands were contorting painfully. Professor McGonagall gasped and placed herself in front of Harry, Ron and Hermione as Madam Pomfrey shakily drew a potion from her apron. But she didn’t move to administer it.

As Lupin jerked suddenly, a snarl was ripped from his throat; he bared unnaturally long, sharp teeth in a low growl as his face started to shift and elongate. He was growing taller, too, and broader—his sweater ripped at the shoulder as he convulsed, and when Harry looked back up at his teacher’s face, he didn’t recognise it. His mouth and nose were forming into a snout as dark fur grew rapidly all over his body, and deadly jaws snapped audibly.

Harry was startled out of his petrified stupor when Merlin rushed forward suddenly, colliding with the creature Lupin was becoming and nearly knocking them both off their feet. His arms were a vice around Lupin’s torso, pinning his arms as he thrashed and continued to transform.

Merlin might be stronger than he looked, but he couldn’t hold him for long. He glanced back once at the teachers and students; then his face turned grim. Behind him, the window opened of its own accord, and in one strong heave, Merlin wrenched them both backward, and they toppled together over the ledge into the abyss beyond.

There was a sharp scream from somewhere in the room, but as Harry and the others rushed toward the window, a strong wind buffeted them back. Outside, an enormous shadow blocked the window completely, shifting and fluttering as if some immense mass was moving past at an incredible speed. Finally, a long, scaly, spiked tail clipped the edge of the building and knocked a small amount of stone rubble into the room.

The dragon whooshed into the sky at breakneck speed, growing slowly smaller as it hurtled away. Harry stared in silent awe at the dark, shining creature as its mighty wings beat the air, propelling it into the sky. As its form receded into the dark, Harry could just make out the shape of a small, writhing figure carried securely between the dragon’s talons.

Silence rang in the room as the dragon disappeared into the distance, the only remaining sound being the faint howling of wind in the open window. At least, it was probably the wind.

Harry couldn’t even find it within himself to be surprised anymore, and decided that his priorities should be ordered thusly: 1) his best friend’s pet rat murdered Harry’s parents; 2) his professor was a werewolf; 3) Merlin could turn into a dragon. _Yeah_ , he thought, satisfied with his conclusion. _That should be the least of my concerns here._ He turned back to Pettigrew, who fortunately had not managed to escape from the box while their backs were turned, though he was clearly trying his best to do exactly that.

However, no one else seemed to have ordered their priorities in the same way. As soon as the wind died down, several people were shouting simultaneous questions involving ample use of the words “dragon,” “werewolf,” “enormous,” “dangerous,” and _“dragon!”_

“Lupin—” Ron was muttering. “Lupin’s a werewolf?”

“Think about it,” said Hermione lowly. “The scars, the Boggart, the mysterious sickness every time there’s a full moon…”

“Hold on—you _knew_?”

“Well, obviously, Ronald!” she hissed. “Professor Snape clearly _wanted_ us to figure it out, that’s why he skipped ahead and gave us that essay about werewolves—which you’d know if you’d actually done it.”

“Mr. Weasley,” said Dumbledore, cutting through the cacophony of the room. “Mr. Potter. While I am certain you have concerns, I must suggest that you wait until Professor Lupin’s return before sharing what you have discovered with your friends and family. Lycanthropy is a gruelling condition, to be sure, but it can be managed; and as you well know, Professor Lupin is one of the best teachers at Hogwarts. Surely, he deserves the benefit of the doubt, wouldn’t you agree?”

Harry nodded.

“I… I suppose?” said Ron.

Madam Pomfrey started to speak, but was cut short when a scratching sound came from the direction of the still-open window. Without further warning, a giant reptilian eye appeared at the window, surveying them all curiously as the slit pupil shifted within a bright, golden iris. The glittering eye was all they could see for a good few seconds before it retreated, quickly replaced by a dark, scaly snout nosing into the room—or trying to, at least. The creature was so large that it couldn’t even get its entire head in through the window. Upon discovering this, it sniffed in confusion; and then it started to shrink.

Slowly at first, the dragon’s head became small enough to fit through the window; Harry could now see the deadly-looking spikes along its crest and trailing down its long neck, and gleaming scales that seemed to repel light in such a way that it was impossible to determine exactly what colour the creature was. Its face was pointed, much like Merlin’s, and when it shrank enough to squeeze one forepaw in through the gap, its glinting talons scraped a couple of pieces off the solid stone wall onto the floor—they fell into a small pool of blood that Harry belatedly noticed was dripping from its injured hand.

As the dragon shrank, its head began to grow shorter, and its scales lightened and fused—and then, quite suddenly, there was nothing but a black-haired young man tumbling in through the window and onto the floor.

“Ow.”

Merlin got to his feet and brushed himself off with one hand, the other one still dripping small droplets of blood onto the floor. “Sorry about that. I fear I must have made Remus miss his potion with all this fuss over Peter. Just dropped him off in the forest, he should be fine now.”

“What in the name of—” Professor McGonagall began, but stopped short when Merlin coughed a couple of sparks onto the floor, quickly stamping them out with his boot.

“Well, let me see to that, at least,” said Madam Pomfrey briskly, hastening to usher Merlin into a chair and examining his hand.

“No, it’s fine, just a scratch—”

“From a werewolf!” Harry exclaimed.

“Yeah, but it’s only the size of a papercut,” said Merlin, wiping a bit of blood away with his sleeve to show him.

Indeed, there were three parallel lines down the inside of his palm—like those that marred Lupin’s face several times over—but it looked as if they had been made by a creature the size of a rat, or possibly an especially aggressive notebook.

“I was a lot bigger at the time,” Merlin explained wryly.

“He didn’t bite you, did he?” asked Harry, not sure if that should even be a concern.

Merlin shook his head. “No, I held him like this to keep his teeth out of the way.” He showed them his fist for a moment before Madam Pomfrey grabbed it back and started dabbing away with a potion-soaked cloth. Harry couldn’t help but imagine a tiny werewolf struggling to escape and howling in a very small voice.

“Still,” said Hermione, “scars from a werewolf are meant to be permanent, aren’t they?”

Merlin shrugged. “Sure, but again—papercut. It’s no big deal. Besides, they’ll only last until I—” He froze, clicked his mouth shut, and didn’t say anything else.

“You are an Animagus, then?” Professor McGonagall asked, apparently deciding to ignore whatever he had stopped himself from saying. “I can only assume you haven’t registered your form with the Ministry…” She eyed the window dubiously.

“Yeah—I tried,” he said quickly, “but the office wasn’t big enough for me to transform in, so I couldn’t prove it. I tried to get the clerk to follow me outside, but he more or less laughed me off the premises, so I just gave up.”

“Well—yes,” she replied. “As far as I know, it’s virtually unheard of for an Animagus to take the form of a magical creature, much less a dragon.”

“Quite,” Dumbledore agreed mildly.

“Yes, I… had not been made aware of that at the time.”

Before the incredulous look on Professor McGonagall’s face could manifest itself into words, there was yet another interruption.


	21. If you're going to lie about your age, work out your date of birth ahead of time

A knock at the door interrupted Merlin’s attempts to justify his dragon Animagus.

“Took him long enough,” Merlin muttered.

Dumbledore crossed the room to open the door, which admitted Professor Snape, carrying a potion that was emitting a faint blue smoke.

“Good evening, Headmaster,” he said, not sounding especially surprised to find him in Professor Ambrose’s office in what was quickly approaching the middle of the night. “I have been unable to locate Professor Lupin for some time now…”

“Yes, I am afraid he has already made it to the Forbidden Forest.”

“Actually,” Merlin piped up, “I took him a bit farther than that. Didn’t want him to run into any Dementors. They don’t usually attack animals or animal-adjacent creatures, but you can’t be… too…”

He trailed off, frowning down at Scabbers—or Pettigrew.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“It’s just—Pettigrew was always the slowest of the bunch. I never imagined he could have successfully become an Animagus, but if they were all doing it together… stands to reason Black might be one too. I can’t guess what form he takes; I’d have to ask Remus when he gets back. But it could explain how he survived in Azkaban, as well as how he got past the Dementors and into the school. Still not sure how he _escaped_ from Azkaban, though…”

“But what would Black even be doing here?” said Harry. “If he wasn’t actually trying to kill me?”

Merlin brightened. “Of course! He was probably after Pettigrew all along. He must have figured out where he was somehow and broke out to get revenge. That sounds like something he’d do.”

Madam Pomfrey eyed him suspiciously. “How old _are_ you, exactly?”

Merlin looked as if he was attempting some very quick maths.

“Thirty?” he said after a much-too-long pause.

McGonagall’s eyebrows knotted themselves together as they ascended towards her hairline.

Madam Pomfrey scoffed. “I think not. I might take you for a student if I didn’t know better.”

“When were you born?” Snape drawled, unhelpfully.

Merlin’s ‘maths face’ intensified.

“Regardless,” Professor Dumbledore smoothly intervened, “there have been other developments, Severus. It appears Peter Pettigrew is alive and well.” He gestured to the rat in the box.

Snape looked uncertainly between the other professors in the room as if wondering whether this were a practical joke. “That is a rat.”

“Yes, it would seem that he is an unregistered Animagus, much like our Professor Ambrose here.”

Snape eyed Merlin suspiciously, but did not comment.

“Unfortunately,” Dumbledore continued, “we cannot be entirely certain until we allow him the opportunity to transform, which he is unable to do in his current enclosure.”

“I’m waiting for a friend to get here with a solution to that,” Merlin added. “It’s a bit… occult, but it should work for our purposes.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked. “Like, demons and stuff?”

Merlin sighed. “Again with the—No, it’s a magical thing people used to use to trap witches. You draw symbols and things round the outside.”

“Sounds dangerous,” said Ron.

“It’s perfectly safe,” Merlin assured him. “I know what I’m doing, and it’s not—HOI!”

They jumped at the shout, which was directed towards the still-open window. Merlin rushed over to it, waving his arms.

“Over here, just come in this way! No, _over here!”_

A figure astride a broom was zooming back and forth around their wing of the castle, clearly inexperienced but lacking the wisdom to slow down in order to avoid a collision. And he was quickly approaching.

“Slow down!” Merlin shouted, obviously in agreement with Harry. “Oh, bloody—”

He dove out of the way as the figure hurtled closer to the window, and within seconds, a man on a broomstick was hurtling remarkably cleanly through the opening—only to then skid through the room and crash into the bookcases against the opposite wall in a flurry of falling books and broomtail twigs.

“Bloody hell, Arthur!” Merlin shouted as he marched toward the man now half-obscured by books and papers. “You could’ve killed someone—you great prat—you’d better not have broken that chalk—”

A blond man in Muggle clothing struggled out from underneath the pile of books. “Yeah, _I’m_ fine, thanks for checking,” said a heavily accented voice.

With a put-upon sigh, Merlin took pity on him and helped him to his feet and out of the mess. The man dusted himself off and straightened up—which was when Harry realized with a jolt that this wasn’t just _any_ Arthur. To his utter stupefaction, the genuine King Arthur Pendragon himself was now standing in Merlin’s office, at Hogwarts, in the twentieth century.

All right, now Harry was just angry.

“What the _hell!”_ he exclaimed before he could stop himself, immediately giving up all hope of ever returning to a normal existence. “What the—No!”

He looked to Ron and Hermione for support, but both of them were staring open-mouthed at the newcomer.

“What’s his problem?” King Arthur asked, eyeing Harry sceptically.

Merlin froze, his eyes flicking rapidly between them.

“I can explain,” he said quickly. “Erm, everyone, this is my friend Arthur; Arthur, these are some of the teachers I’ve told you about, and those are, er, my students…”

“We’ve met before,” Harry told Arthur grimly.

Arthur frowned. “What? When?”

He glanced at Merlin, whose nose was scrunched in an expression of deep discomfort.

“It was… rather a long time ago.”

“You don’t mean—”

“Yeah.”

Arthur looked like he had half a mind to strangle Merlin, but merely clenched his fist instead. “Explain. Right now.”

Suddenly, Arthur’s accent had completely disappeared; but looking around at the confused faces of the professors, Harry realised it must be because they had switched languages so as not to be overheard.

Merlin responded in kind, though under the translation spell, his words merely sounded slightly more mumbly. “Erm, do you remember those three kids that showed up when we were on patrol, and they were wearing funny clothes and speaking a foreign language?”

Arthur turned to examine the three of them incredulously. “Please, Merlin, for the love of—don’t tell me this is them. What are they doing here?”

Merlin scratched his head. “I told you, it’s Martin. And, er, they’re _from_ here, actually. From the future. Well, it _is_ the future now, so really it’s all perfectly normal—I mean, I sent them back with a spell, which is why I wouldn’t let you come with me, so now they’re here, and apparently it all worked out!”

Arthur’s glower intensified with every word. _“Time travellers_ , Merlin?”

“—Martin—"

“And, hang on, isn’t this a school for sorcery? Are you telling me you were harbouring three teenage sorcerers from the future under my father’s nose for _weeks?”_

“—only a few days, really—”

“And I bet you put a spell on them so they could understand us too, you moron: look, they can clearly hear everything we’re saying!”

When they both turned to the trio, Harry grinned awkwardly in response.

“Whoops. Knew I’d forgotten something.”

Arthur growled wordlessly in frustration. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Let it go, Arthur, it was fifteen hundred years ago!”

“Excuse me,” said Professor Dumbledore mildly. “What exactly is the matter?”

“Just an old argument,” said Merlin, returning to English. “Nothing to do with the current situation, I assure you.”

“You’re insane!” Arthur exclaimed.

“English, please, Arthur, don’t be rude. Anyway, do you have the chalk? We should really move this along.”

“No, hang on,” said Ron. “How did _he_ get here? What’s going on? What language am I speaking?”

“English, of course,” said Merlin with a nervous laugh. “Look, I can explain that later, but in order to do so, I would need to get into details that would be, shall we say, _deeply confusing_ for everyone around us, so can we please just—”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you can turn into a dragon, would it?” asked Professor McGonagall pointedly.

“Or the fact that you performed Legilimency on a rat,” Snape added.

Arthur glared at Merlin so hard it looked as if his eyes might bulge out of his head.

Merlin raised his hands in surrender. “Look, Arthur, there are a lot of things I haven’t got around to telling you, all right? The list is _fairly_ long!”

“For what it’s worth,” said Dumbledore, “I would like to remind you of my suggestion that you inform the Order of various secrets that have recently come to light.”

“What secrets?” said Professor McGonagall immediately.

Arthur grinned. “Yeah, what secrets, Mer—"

“Ah-ah-ah!” Merlin shouted over him, waving his hands. “We’ve been over this!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “It can’t be _that_ important. Honestly, you’re so dramatic.”

“I really cannot overstate,” Merlin enunciated, “how important it is that you not say the thing you were about to say.”

“What, M—?”

Merlin’s hand was over Arthur’s mouth in a fraction of a second.

“I will chuck you out that window,” said Merlin lowly. He stared into Arthur’s widened eyes and continued, “Now hand over the bag.”

When Merlin took his hand away, Arthur glared at him some more to re-assert his dominance, but gave him the drawstring pouch tied around his neck anyway.

Merlin reached inside, rifling around until his entire arm had disappeared inside before finally drawing out a piece of red chalk and handing the pouch back.

“ _Thank_ you,” he said. “Now, I’ll just—excuse me…”

They cleared a space in the middle of the room where Merlin knelt down to draw a large, fairly even circle on the ground, around which he drew a number of symbols. He stood up, surveyed his work, and nodded, placing the chalk in his pocket as he walked back toward the box on his desk.

“Is that another pet rat, or the murderer you were talking about on the foam?” asked Arthur.

“It’s pronounced ‘phone,’ Arthur. And this is Peter Pettigrew. I told you about him, remember? That business with Sirius Black and Voldemort and the Potters.”

“Hm,” said Arthur, with the air of a man who hadn’t been paying attention for the conversation in question but was unwilling to admit it.

Meanwhile, Merlin undid the latch on the box, and quick as lightning, he grabbed the rat with his unbandaged hand, tossed it into the air, and shouted a spell Harry didn’t recognise.

For a moment, it looked like the rat was going to splat onto the ground—and then, just before it hit the stone floor, a human head appeared in mid-air with a terrified expression, and limbs sprouted just as quickly. Suddenly, a short man was standing there, struggling to keep his balance; Merlin gave him one good shove, and he fell back into the circle, stumbling partway to the ground before righting himself.

As the panicky-looking man pressed up against some invisible barrier, Harry got his first good look at him. Pettigrew was barely taller than Harry, but had a shrunken, snivelling appearance that made him look even older than Merlin’s figure of mid-thirties. His hair was thin and stringy, with a large bald patch, and as he pushed at the bounds of Merlin’s enchantment, Harry could clearly see his missing finger.

“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed, and sat down heavily. “It’s true.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Pettigrew entreated in a squeaky voice. Even his pointed nose and beady eyes were reminiscent of the rat he had been for so long. “Please don’t let him get me… I was hiding… I knew Black would come for me—please, you don’t believe this boy, do you?”

Dumbledore’s expression remained stony, and it was McGonagall who responded.

“Peter?” she whispered. “By Merlin’s name…”

This drew Pettigrew’s attention to her instead, and he pleaded, “Professor McGonagall, you remember me, don’t you? I’d never hurt a fly, you know me… Black was the one—always angry, so angry…”

“Angry?” said McGonagall, voice still hushed. “Loud, perhaps, but… I always did think he was a true Gryffindor…”

Pettigrew, looking desperately around the room for a friendly face, finally landed on Snape. “Severus! You believe me, don’t you? You know how Black is, how cruel he always was… He tormented me too, and then he tried to kill me! He was so angry when James chose that Muggleborn over him, he always called her the Mud—”

“Shut up,” Snape growled (to Harry’s surprise), and Pettigrew cringed, wringing his hands.

“That’s enough,” said Merlin. “I don’t think any of us want to hear more of your lies. I’m glad Remus isn’t here to see what you’ve become.” He inched slowly closer, monopolising Pettigrew’s attention. “Now, we just need to clear up a few things, Peter, and maybe if you’re helpful, I’ll see what I can do to keep the Dementors off of you—though if you’re not, that’s all right too. You know Severus; I’m sure he has some Veritaserum on hand.”

“Don’t know… what you’re talking about,” said Pettigrew shrilly, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Black’s got dark powers—how else did he get out of Azkaban? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks! I’ve been waiting for twelve years for him to get out and kill me!”

“You knew he would be the first ever to break out? I don’t think so. You weren’t hiding from him; you thought he was gone forever. You were hiding from your master’s old friends, weren’t you? You told Voldemort where to find the Potters, and then he died there. It looks like you’ve made enemies on both sides.”

“I must admit,” said Professor Dumbledore, “I find it difficult to understand why and innocent man would choose to spend twelve years as a rat.”

“Innocent, but scared!” Pettigrew squeaked. “If Voldemort’s supporters were after me, it was because I put their spy Sirius Black in prison!”

“Erm, Professor?” Hermione asked timidly. Merlin turned. “Could I ask…”

“Of course, Hermione.”

“Well… Scabbers—I mean, this—this man, he’s been sleeping in Harry’s dormitory for three years. If he’s working for You-Know-Who, how come he never tried to hurt Harry before now?”

“There!” said Pettigrew shrilly. “Thank you… You see? I would never—”

“Have you forgotten our conversation earlier?” Merlin interrupted, turning back to Pettigrew. “I know it crossed your mind. But you wouldn’t commit murder right under Dumbledore’s nose, not for a master who’s half-dead or more.”

“No, it’s not true, I would never—"

“Perhaps,” said Professor McGonagall, “we ought to call the Ministry.”

“No, please!” Pettigrew squealed. “You can’t let them—” He shuddered and pushed up against the barrier again, leaning towards Ron this time. “Ron… haven’t I been a good friend… a good pet? You won’t let them give me to the Dementors, will you?”

But Ron was staring at him with the utmost revulsion. “I let you sleep in my bed!”

Pettigrew was kneeling now, and turning to Harry, pleaded, “Harry, Harry… you look just like your father… don’t let them take me—"

“Don’t speak to them,” said Merlin. “You’ve done enough harm already.”

“Sorry,” said Arthur, “who is this man? I liked him better as a rat.”

“Yes, everyone does,” Merlin agreed absently. “He’s responsible for the deaths of Harry’s parents and several non-magical people. I knew you weren’t listening when I explained it before.”

Arthur’s accent briefly disappeared again as he lobbed a few choice words in Merlin’s direction.

“English, Arthur, or you’ll never learn it.”

“Ugh, why? And whycan you say my name but I can’t say yours?”

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. “You _can_ ,” he said pointedly. “Arthur is a very average name, and so is _Martin_. I’d just really rather you didn’t call me any other… nicknames which will be difficult to explain and which might make it back to unsavoury ears.” He glanced emphatically in Pettigrew’s direction. “Now, I think we ought to take Professor McGonagall’s advice and call the authorities before we even attempt to locate Sirius.”


	22. When it comes to the government, a certain level of incompetence is to be expected

Evidently, even the capture of a presumed-dead mass murderer was not enough to get the Minister of Magic out of bed at an hour so late it was nearly morning, which unfortunately meant that the students had to go to bed and the adults had to take turns keeping an eye on Pettigrew.

“They’ll be here in the morning,” Merlin reassured Harry, Ron and Hermione, and in a low voice, added, “Come by before breakfast if you like. I don’t imagine anyone could really fault you for missing a class or two to help apprehend a mass murderer…”

Hermione looked scandalised at the suggestion, but Harry just nodded, exhausted, and led his two friends from the room as Ron muttered about never being able to sleep again.

* * *

“Hang on,” said Ron later, sitting up in bed. “Is King Arthur inexplicably here, and learning English, and riding broomsticks, or did I just dream that?”

“I don’t even care anymore,” Harry muttered, and instantly went back to sleep.

* * *

Harry woke up groggier than usual, struggled to remember what day it was, and then struggled to remember what century it was. He dressed and got himself ready absentmindedly, hoping he hadn’t forgotten to do any homework but not willing to think hard enough to figure it out.

He and Ron stumbled down into the common room to wait for Hermione before heading to breakfast.

“Hang on,” said Harry, “Did your rat kill my parents?”

Ron groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Great.”

“There you are,” said Hermione as she came down the stairs, as if she had been waiting for _them_ and not the other way around. “Are you ready to go to Professor Ambrose’s office? I don’t want to miss any classes—hopefully we can wrap this up before Defence.”

Harry, too tired to be sarcastic, let this comment slide and merely trailed along behind Hermione as they exited the portrait and went downstairs. _Maybe they_ should _give that lowlife the Dementor’s Kiss,_ he thought bitterly. _He killed a dozen people, including my parents, let his friend rot in Azkaban for twelve years…_ He sighed, letting the anger drain out of him along with the pent-up breath. _No, my parents wouldn’t have wanted that. It just isn’t right._

When they trailed in through the half-open door of Merlin’s office, three Ministry officials were already there, as were Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. King Arthur sat awkwardly in Merlin’s desk chair as his former servant argued with the wizarding government.

“It’s inhumane!” he was saying. “I don’t know why you can’t just have prison guards like everyone else; what happened to rehabilitation?”

“The Ministry’s criminal justice system is not up to you,” said the man to Cornelius Fudge’s right. “We have already made significant accommodations by taking the Kiss off the table despite the additional crime of being an unregistered Animagus—which, as you well know, will require supplementary security measures on top of it all—”

“And we appreciate your leniency,” said Dumbledore. “Surely,” he added in Merlin’s direction, “matters relating to the actual management of Azkaban can be addressed at a later time, through different channels.”

“Precisely,” said Fudge with a self-satisfied smile. Behind Merlin, Arthur made a face. “Now, while we of course appreciate your assistance in this case, the Ministry will handle it from here. If you would be so kind as to remove this… enchantment… we will restrain him according to the standard procedures in Animagus cases and be on our way. We will, of course, inform you of the date of his trial when it is set, Dumbledore,” he added.

“Splendid,” said Dumbledore. Inside the chalk circle, Pettigrew was on his knees again, trembling and somehow looking even dirtier than he had yesterday.

“Very well,” said Merlin. “Ready?”

The man to Fudge’s left readied a pair of handcuffs with indecipherable inscriptions on them and nodded. Merlin smeared the line of the circle with one boot, and Pettigrew lunged forward out of the trap; Merlin and the other man grabbed him, cuffed him, and handed him to Fudge, presumably to allow for a photo op immediately upon leaving Hogwarts. Harry shook his head and sat across the desk from Arthur.

“Ah, Harry!” said Fudge, finally noticing him. “How good to see you again. It must be quite a relief to know that your parents’ killer is finally behind bars.”

Harry could only respond with an apathetic, “Er, yeah…” and refrained from pointing out that the Ministry had had the wrong man this entire time and had had no part in capturing the real murderer.

And with that, the Ministry and Peter Pettigrew were gone.

“Well,” said Merlin. “That was unpleasant.”

“Yeah,” said Arthur. “When are you going to fix the television?”

“Have a little tact, Arthur, for Avalon’s sake. I’ll fly back down there later. Listen, I was going to go see Remus in the hospital wing, you lot want to come with me?”

Arthur shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Harry, Ron and Hermione voiced their agreement as well, and the five of them split off from Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, who would return to the Great Hall to make an announcement about the events of last night.

“Are they still hunting Black, then?” Harry asked, wondering what would become of the man now.

“Not actively, no,” Merlin replied. “But I’d still like to find him before they do. Who knows what they might do. And if he were to testify at Pettigrew’s trial, it might turn the media in his favour a bit—he could finally get his life back.”

“I think—” Harry hesitated. “I think I’d like to meet him sometime.”

“I bet he’d be happy to see you again, too,” said Merlin. “He was your godfather, you know.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured. “I heard.”

When they entered the hospital wing, it was as bright and spacious as always, all the beds empty this time except for one. Professor Lupin was sitting up against a pillow, looking paler than usual, as Madam Pomfrey dressed a wound on his leg. He wilted slightly when he caught sight of them.

“I didn’t do that, did I?” Merlin asked, gesturing to the bandages as he sat down on the bed across from his.

Lupin looked relieved that he had spoken first. “No, it was either me or—well, I’m pretty sure I got in a fight with a regular wolf. And that?” He gestured to the bandage on Merlin’s hand. “Was it…?”

“Just a scratch,” said Merlin easily, unwrapping the bandage to show him the paper-thin lines that were almost healed already.

“Well,” said Lupin, sounding rather dazed. “Suppose it’s lucky your Animagus is a dragon, then.”

“Comes in handy every now and then,” said Merlin with a grin.

“You already knew, didn’t you?” Lupin sighed. “About me. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“I’m dangerous, Martin—er, I mean—” He glanced at Madam Pomfrey and didn’t correct himself. “I could have hurt you three because I wasn’t careful enough,” he said, turning to the trio. “I’m sorry.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but Merlin did it for him.

“No one was hurt,” he said. “And you’ve got a dangerous condition, yeah, but _you’re_ not dangerous. You double-knot your shoelaces, Remus.”

That forced a reluctant snort out of him. “Better than shredding them to bits by walking on them like Sirius always did.” He paused. “Is he gone, then? Peter, I mean.”

Merlin nodded. “Fudge came to get him just now.”

“Good. It’s probably better if I don’t have to look at him again. Might wolf out on the spot. Er—joking,” he added quickly. “That doesn’t happen.”

“There you are, then,” said Madam Pomfrey as she finished wrapping his arm. “I’ve got to go back into the office. Now, don’t you stay too long; he needs to rest.”

They nodded, and Harry and Arthur sat on either side of Merlin. Ron and Hermione followed suit and pulled up chairs.

“Glad you’re feeling better,” said Harry awkwardly.

“Thanks,” Lupin replied in kind. “I suppose I had better resign now, since—”

“No!” Harry and Merlin said at once.

“Please don’t,” said Hermione wearily. “You’re the best Defence teacher we’ve had.”

“By a lot,” Ron added. “Maybe the best, full stop. Actually, you’re a good history teacher too, Mer—Professor Ambrose.”

“Thanks,” said Merlin wryly. “I should be; I was there.”

“Oh, right,” said Lupin faintly.

“Wait,” said Arthur. “He knows about all that too?”

“Yeah,” said Merlin. “Recently. Oh, sorry—Arthur, this is Remus, I’ve told you about him. Remus, this is Arthur. He came back a couple decades ago.”

“Ah. Well, it’s nice to meet—wait.” Lupin eyed Merlin for a moment. “This isn’t _that_ Arthur, is it?”

“Pendragon, yes.” Arthur extended a hand, which Lupin shook weakly. “I was prophesised to return, apparently. Thanks for letting me know about that, by the way, Merlin.”

“You’re quite welcome, sire.”

“I was being sarcastic, you utter—” Arthur grabbed Merlin in a headlock in lieu of coming up with an insult, which he quickly struggled out of.

“Get off me, you turnip-head. I’m a thousand years old, for Avalon’s sake, can we maintain the barest level of decorum here?”

“You?” Arthur scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

“Just—shut up.”

“So,” said Harry conversationally. “Erm, when did you… come back from the dead?”

“Oh, yeah, funny story—” Merlin began, brightening, but Arthur flicked his ear and interrupted.

“No it isn’t, Merlin, what is the matter with you?”

“Leave my ears alone.”

“ _Actually_ , when the people of Albion starting talking about a ‘war to end all wars,’ that was apparently some sort of trigger to call me back. Turns out—as you all know—there was an even worse war after that, so we fought in that one too, and now, apparently, I’m stuck here with this idiot waiting for the _next_ worse one. Not sure how long we’re going to keep doing this, but it’s been quiet for a bit now.”

“Not as if you were even much help,” Merlin muttered. “You can’t very well swing a sword in the trenches.”

“Yeah, whose idea was that anyw—hey, I am a renowned strategist, I will have you know; you couldn’t have done it without me, _Mer_ lin.”

“Again, I’m going to have to insist that you _stop using that name_ , because if anyone finds out I’m still alive, the wizarding world will never, _ever_ leave me alone.”

“Why would they care—”

His retort was cut off by a loud _CRASH;_ across the room, Madam Pomfrey, who had evidently just returned from the other room, had dropped a metal tray full of now-broken potion bottles.

No one moved for a long moment. Merlin and Madam Pomfrey made extended, petrified eye contact.

Merlin glared at Arthur, turning his hair green.

“What did _I_ do? Hang on, did you just—”

Merlin, grumbling, got up and cautiously approached Madam Pomfrey, who was still frozen in place. When he reached her, he carefully picked up the tray, and the broken glass zoomed up onto it and re-formed. He almost held it out to her, but thought better of it and set it on an end table instead.

“Erm,” he began. “What exactly did you hear?”

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin,” said Arthur, “she clearly heard the whole thing.”

Merlin turned to gesticulate wildly at him. “That doesn’t mean you should say it again, clotpole!”

“You—” Madam Pomfrey stammered. “You—”

“Perhaps you should sit down,” Lupin suggested.

Madam Pomfrey nodded absently and, picking up the tray, rattled all the way over to Lupin, where she sat on his other side and handed him the tray of potions.

“Erm.” He set it down on the bedside table. “I’m afraid it’s true. He brought me and Professors Snape and Dumbledore to the Crystal Cave—was that yesterday?”

“Blimey, I think it was,” said Ron.

Merlin sat beside the mediwitch and patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. This did not appear to improve matters.

“Why aren’t you old,” she muttered, seemingly to herself.

Merlin snorted. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t particularly fancy walking around with arthritis for fifteen centuries. Besides, this is what I looked like when I first died, pretty sure that has something to do with it.”

“Really?” said Lupin.

“You actually _died_ that time?” Arthur exclaimed. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey, I didn’t know it back then, either. I only started wondering about it when Gwen turned forty and started harassing me about why I still looked twenty.”

“You were seventeen!”

“Oh, was I?”

Arthur threw up his hands and started muttering to himself.

“You didn’t even finish growing…” Lupin murmured.

Merlin shrugged. “S’pose that might account for a few things.”

Madam Pomfrey was no longer catatonic, but unfortunately, she was now staring raptly at Merlin instead.

“You really are as the legends described,” she said quietly after a moment.

“Now, I don’t know about—”

“What legends?” said Arthur.

Merlin sighed. “I’ve _told_ you about this. They have stories about you, and me, and the knights—and Gwen, obviously—I mean, not all of them are true, but some are.”

“Why didn’t you correct them, then?”

“Because in order to do that, I would have to reveal that I am, in fact, _alive_ , which would be problematic for several reasons!”

“Yeah, did you know we swear by his name?” Ron contributed.

Arthur turned to him very slowly. “You what.”

“He’s joking,” said Merlin quickly, but Lupin laughed.

“Oh, no,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I’m pretty sure I’ve said that in front of you at some point…”

Ron groaned. “Merlin’s beard, so have I—Wait.”

“Is this why you were so tetchy about it?” Arthur exclaimed. “Why on earth would they—”

“Well, that and the fact that I’m _supposed to be dead_ , how many times do I have to reiterate—”

“—and besides, I’m the king, why are you more important than me—”

“—fairly sure importance has nothing to do with it—”

“Well,” said Ron simply, “he’s the greatest wizard to ever live, isn’t he?”

“He’s what,” said Arthur.

No one spoke for several seconds.

“Warlock,” Merlin corrected in a small voice.


	23. The cover is often a relevant criterion when judging a book; that's what it's there for

“So I accidentally spilled the beans to Madam Pomfrey,” Merlin muttered as they walked. “Beans all over the castle, now.”

“Actually,” said Harry, “Arthur spilled these beans.”

“That’s right!” He stopped in his tracks and turned on Arthur (whose hair was finally beginning to turn back to its original shade). “You’re a menace. Wait, why are you here again?”

“You still haven’t fixed the television. And besides, I want to see you attempt to teach a defence class,” he added with a grin.

“Absolutely not,” said Merlin, continuing down the corridor. “It’s bad enough having to deal with your foolishness on a regular basis; I won’t have you disrupting my class too.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Impossible. Besides, I’m in classes all day—look, I told you you’d be bored here when I took the job in the first place. Why don’t you go investigate the giant squid or something?”

Arthur brightened. “A giant squid? Where?”

Merlin was already leaving. “The Black Lake, out on the grounds,” he called back.

Harry shrugged and followed Merlin to class, Ron and Hermione in tow. They took their normal seats in the Defence classroom as Merlin rifled through the notes Professor Lupin had given him.

The students quickly trickled in and found their seats as he began writing on the blackboard. “Good morning, class—no, you’re in the right room, Mr. Longbottom, have a seat—I’m just taking over a few of Professor Lupin’s classes today, since he had a rather nasty encounter with a Grindylow and is meant to be recuperating. Professor McGonagall will teach the afternoon Defence classes. Now, it appears we ought to be studying Red Caps today, but unfortunately, sometimes an impromptu werewolf lesson requires a later, corrective impromptu werewolf lesson, so apparently, I’ve got to do that first.

“Don’t worry,” he added quickly at the dubious looks he received, “I won’t be assigning any homework today. All right. Now, first of all, lycanthropy is a disease which causes a human to change shape once a month. It does not in any way affect said human’s behaviour or personality the rest of the time—although it may give them a keener sense of smell, so be kind to your local werewolf and bathe regularly. Lycanthropy can also be treated with the Wolfsbane Potion, which allows the werewolf to keep their human mind, making them safe to be around even during the transformation itself.

“It is for these reasons that there is such a widespread movement to secure better legal protections for werewolves—Mr. Crabbe, the rumours are true, I have eyes in the back of my head, so I’d stop that if I were you—and besides, the Ministry has a highly discriminatory track record with respect to all non-wizard or magically afflicted entities, including Veela, centaurs, dragons and, of course, Muggles—which is why the Order of Merlin was founded in the first place, I would like to point out, don’t know why they’re giving out awards left and right these days, but that’s none of my business. Actually, it is, but never mind. Second thing: Dementors. Clearly, some of you have not been sufficiently informed about the extremely dangerous and scary creatures hanging around the school; also, I would really like to stop seeing bad Dementor impressions in the corridors…”

Merlin’s lecture did eventually get around to Red Caps, as promised, but not before being nearly overtaken by his own tangents and by questions from the class. About halfway through, Harry noticed that Arthur had snuck in and hid himself near the door to watch; and true to his word, he watched attentively and quietly. He slipped out again near the end with only a few students noticing the movement. Harry decided not to tell Merlin about it.

* * *

The trio didn’t see either of them again until after classes—although they did see Snape in Potions class, and he was decidedly not happy about Merlin’s newest lesson on werewolves, particularly since it prompted several questions about the Wolfsbane potion. Obviously, though, this was not the first time that Snape had had rather vocal reservations about Merlin’s teaching methods.

After dinner that evening, they went up to Merlin’s office to give him the remainder of the photographs Hermione had taken back in Camelot, deciding that he probably needed them more than they did.

“I hope Arthur’s still there,” said Ron as they climbed the stairs. “I have loads of questions.”

And indeed, Arthur’s lack of an ‘indoor voice’ alerted them to his presence as they came down the corridor, which would be problematic for Merlin if he wanted to keep any of his secrets for much longer.

“Come in,” said Merlin before they had a chance to knock on the half-open door.

Harry shrugged and entered. “Hermione took more photos,” he explained, gesturing to the small stack she was holding.

“In Camelot?” asked Merlin eagerly.

“She _what?”_ said Arthur, but Merlin was already taking the stack Hermione handed him and rifling through.

“This is amazing,” said Merlin. “These would be worth a fortune if you could prove they were real, although that’d probably be impossible. And anyway, time-travelling tourists is really the _last_ thing teenage me would—”

He stopped abruptly, looking up at the door, and covered the stack of pictures on his desk with a haphazard pile of books. Clearly, his skills in stealth had not improved over the last thousand years.

Right on cue, there was a sharp knock at the door before Professor McGonagall appeared from around the half-open door. Harry knew instantly that she had smelled deception and was finally coming to investigate. The fact that several professors followed in her wake did not reassure him, particularly when he saw that one of them was Snape.

“Afternoon,” said Merlin warily, eyeing the four heads of house that lingered near the doorway. “Is something the matter?”

“Might we speak in private for a moment?” asked a stoic Professor McGonagall.

Arthur stepped forward, puffing out his chest. “Anything you can say to him, you can say to me.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “She was talking about the students, nitwit. And anyway,” he added, turning back to his guests, “if this is about what I think it’s about, they’re already involved, so they may as well stay, if it’s all the same to you.”

The way Arthur screwed up his face made Harry think he had probably ignored most of what Merlin said in favour of trying to determine whether ‘nitwit’ was another of his made-up words or not.

“As a matter of fact,” Snape sneered, “this is rather a delicate matter which ought to stay between staff.”

“Bit late for that,” Merlin remarked.

“Mer—Martin,” Arthur interrupted.

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t Gaius me,” said Arthur irritably. Lowering his voice, he leaned in and in a stage whisper, said, “I’m just saying, if I were you, I wouldn’t trust anyone who looks _that_ much like my uncle.”

“I don’t, he just happened to be in the—wow, actually, he _does_ look like him, how is this the first time I’m noticing that? But more importantly, could you stop interrupting—”

“Not that I care exactly,” Arthur was muttering, “but I do wonder what exactly happened to him. Just sort of conveniently disappeared.”

Merlin froze, blinked, and quickly redirected the conversation.

“Sorry about my friend,” he said, once more addressing the confused professors. “This is exactly why I usually leave him at home.”

“Hey—”

“Is there something I can help you with?” Merlin continued pleasantly.

“We’re here about the Philosopher’s Stone,” said Professor Sprout before Arthur could interrupt again.

Merlin frowned. “All right… that’s actually not what I was expecting. But it’s been destroyed, why are you worried about it now?”

“Because if another one was created,” Snape drawled, “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could find it and return to power.”

“Why would you think there was another one? As far as I know, Nicolas Flamel was the only one who—”

“And you were an associate of his, were you not?” asked Snape.

He produced a faded copy of a very old drawing, apparently cut out of a book or a magazine, which depicted Merlin, alongside a very old man and woman, apparently working in a laboratory of some kind. The caption read _Nicolas Flamel, sa femme et son jeune apprenti dans son laboratoire personnel d’alchimie à Paris._

“I wasn’t his apprentice,” Merlin muttered as he examined it.

“You speak French?” asked Professor Flitwick.

“Er.”

“You did know him, then,” said Professor McGonagall. “And this is—”

“My grandfather,” Merlin said quickly. “He introduced me, a long time ago. That’s him in the picture. But I didn’t know either of them very well.”

Arthur sighed conspicuously.

“Then I suppose this is also your grandfather?” said Snape rather gleefully, showing him a photograph—this time, of a group of Muggle soldiers. “Or, I suppose, given the time period, it must be your father. My, the three of you look nearly identical. And that wouldn’t be your friend Arthur’s father beside him, would it?”

Merlin glared at him. “Yeah. Remarkable, isn’t it?”

“Professor Ambrose,” said McGonagall wearily, “we would like some answers. If you are indeed in possession of a Philosopher’s Stone, we merely want to ensure it is adequately protected.”

“I _don’t_ have one,” Merlin replied.

Arthur made to interrupt again. “What’s a—”

“And besides,” Merlin continued, “I can’t imagine why you would jump to the conclusion that I pirated Flamel’s design just because Severus dug up a couple of old pictures.”

“That,” said Professor McGonagall, “and the fact that you have repeatedly attempted to hide the fact that your magical abilities are far beyond normal, chiefly by pretending to be barely competent.”

Arthur snorted. “That sounds familiar.”

Merlin shot him a glare before answering, “My magic is perfectly ordinary, and I’ve never said otherwise. My Animagus is a bit weird, I grant you, but I can’t explain it, and it’s very rarely useful, anyway.”

“That’s certainly true,” said Arthur. “You don’t look like a dragon, either. More like a ferret.”

“That’s not—” Merlin glared. “Why do I put up with this?”

Arthur grinned. “Because you respect me as your leader, of course.”

Merlin paused as if contemplating. “Hmm… Nope. That’s not it.”

“Then, if you really are _thirty_ , as you say,” Snape scoffed, ignoring Arthur’s spluttering, “why do you insist on ignoring certain topics when teaching History of Magic?”

“What is the point of all this?” Merlin sighed. “I’ve already told you I don’t have the Stone.”

“Ignoring topics?” Professor Flitwick squeaked. “Which? Why?”

“Professor Snape is misrepresenting the issue,” said Merlin quickly. “I merely asked that none of my students choose to write about Merlin in their otherwise unrestricted essay, because if I didn’t, I would surely get at least twenty nearly identical essays.”

“The fact remains,” said an incredulous Professor Sprout, “Merlin the Great—”

“The _Great?”_ Arthur yelped.

“—is a cornerstone of our society and an incredibly significant field of study!”

Merlin cringed. “I really don’t think—”

“Don’t _argue_ with them!” Harry blurted.

“You cannot be serious,” Arthur muttered.

“I am afraid I am forced to agree with my colleagues,” said Snape. “And I cannot help but wonder whether this restriction is rooted in anti-Slytherin prejudice—”

“I—” Merlin huffed. “He wasn’tin Slytherin, he didn’t _go_ here. You know this. He was already four hundred years old when it was built!"

“Four hundred years old?” said Flitwick. “Surely, you don’t believe Merlin actually lived twice the life span of a normal wizard?”

“What—oh, of course not. I only mean Hogwarts was after his time—"

“How can you be so sure?” asked Snape with mock curiosity. “There are many sources on the life of Merlin—”

“I _am_ a historian—”

“—but in either case, don’t you agree that the students have a right to know?”

“Yes!” said Merlin, throwing up his hands. “Which is why I’ve promised to dedicate a class to it later in the semester, after we’ve covered more important things.”

“Now,” said Professor Sprout reproachfully, “I know you’re young, but more recent history isn’t necessarily more important.”

“Of course not,” Merlin scoffed. “I know that better than anyone—”

“Do you?” said Snape. “Have you even studied Merlin? You seem to know very little about his time.”

“This is getting ridiculous,” Arthur muttered.

“Of course I have,” said Merlin. “Severus, this line of questioning is highly irregular—”

Snape’s answering smile did not bode well.

“Then why,” he asked, “did _I_ have to explain to my curious students that Merlin and Morgana were not adversaries as they had been told, but were in fact the most powerful magical couple in history, and it was their unity that—”

“That’s not true!” Merlin practically shouted, waving his hands for Snape to stop. He raised them in surrender when Arthur stood up abruptly, staring daggers at Merlin. “It’s definitely not true,” he said again, now entirely focused on preventing Arthur from _actually_ strangling him. “Just think about it for a second, Arthur, and think about who’s saying it.”

Arthur paused, looking strangely uncertain. “You were the only one I could trust.”

“You can,” said Merlin, nodding quickly. “You know me, Arthur, come on…”

But his face was still suspicious, eyes clouded over with confusion. “All those times you went missing…” he growled, staring hard into Merlin’s eyes.

“I’ve told you what I was doing,” said Merlin placatingly. “For Avalon’s sake, why would you think—do I look like I have a death wish?”

“Then where did she learn such powerful magic?” said Arthur, advancing slowly. “Why did she always seem to have a spy, right up until the very end? Why was she so obsessed with you?”

“Do we really need to have this conversation now?” Merlin exclaimed, backing slowly toward the wall as Arthur stalked towards him.

“Yes!” Arthur snapped. “First my wife, then my sister? What kind of scheming little—”

“Now, wait just a minute!” Merlin retorted. “Nothing happened with her, either, I _know_ she told you that, and I don’t know why you think either of us would lie to you—"

“You’ve done nothing but lie to me since the minute we met!”

“I’m _sorry!”_ Merlin shouted, and it was punctuated by thunder that neither of them noticed. “I did the best I could… I was trying to keep all of us safe, and I failed! I was a stupid teenager, and I was afraid, and I didn’t know what I was capable of.”

“Playing both sides, then, were you?” Arthur snarled.

“Why are you so fixated on this stupid—” Merlin sighed, deflating, as he seemed to come to a realisation. “Bloody hell, not again.”

He extricated himself easily from between Arthur and the wall, pushing his friend away carefully, as if worried he would hurt him.

“Cool trick,” he said casually, but the rumbling beneath their feet betrayed his wrath; and when the room started to darken and shrink in on them, Harry braced himself.

Merlin’s image flickered across the room to loom over Snape, whose wand was out and quivering slightly. Electricity flickered and leaped around Merlin’s fingers in response, and illuminated his eyes.

“Reverse what you did to my friend,” Merlin whispered into the abject silence, leaning down to Snape’s ear. “Or perhaps you’d rather find out _exactly_ how true those legends of yours are.”

Snape tried valiantly, but weakly, to respond: “I don’t know what you’re—”

All at once, every window in the room shattered. Merlin grinned with bared teeth and dragonfire flickered in the gaps, casting a strange, distorted glow on his ethereal face.

Snape shut his eyes.

After a long moment, Arthur shivered. “Merlin?”

As abruptly as Harry remembered, everything was stable again, bright and warm and all the windows back to normal—the only remaining evidence of the upheaval was the stunned faces of the professors.

“Arthur.” Merlin rushed over to help his friend into a chair.

“Merlin… I’m sorry—I don’t know what came over me…”

“It’s all right,” said Merlin, kneeling in front of him to wave a hand over Arthur’s bowed head, apparently checking him over. “You were under a spell again. Of sorts. A suggestion planted in your mind. You always did tend towards paranoia…”

Arthur caught his hand, and the rambling stopped. “You know I didn’t mean it… You know that, right? I trust you, I always have.”

“I know.”

Arthur nodded. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me back. And for saving me again.”

“Always.” Merlin smiled.

Arthur stared at him for a moment, then looked away and snorted.

Merlin frowned. “What?”

“Morgana,” said Arthur; and when their eyes met again, they both burst out laughing.

“Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Arthur guffawed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I hope you're enjoying the story! This is just a note to let you know that I've increased the projected chapter count again--it _might_ be the last time. Also, this chapter was a bit more 'out there' than some others in terms of characterization, but considering that book Snape is clearly at least a little unhinged, I went ahead with this idea for the time being. As always, I welcome any comments you feel like adding to the discussion, and I greatly appreciate all of the ones that have already been posted here. Stay safe out there!


	24. Don't tell people life-changing secrets in public

Merlin sighed and perched on top of his desk just behind Arthur, who was still looking a little woozy. “Well, you got your little retribution, Severus. I should’ve known you’d do this after I told you to back off of Remus. But don’t think that means I’m going to just let it go.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, filling in for the dumbstruck professors.

“He wanted to expose Remus as a werewolf so he would have to leave the school.” Merlin huffed. “Of course, I actively undermine him with the Slytherins far more than Remus does, just because I want them to grow up to be reasonable people… Still not actually a Slytherin, though,” he added.

“What _are_ you, then?” asked Arthur.

“Dunno,” said Merlin, looking sad. “The hat won’t tell me.”

“What would I be, then?”

“Gryffindor,” all four of them replied immediately.

“Er… right then.”

In the pause that followed, Snape finally spoke up. “We have a right to know who we’re working with,” he said quietly, voice slightly hoarse. “The Headmaster agrees with me.”

“That’s true enough,” said Merlin, “but you and I both know that’s not why you pulled this stunt. You wanted to turn us against each other.”

“You already knew about this,” Professor McGonagall murmured. “That’s why you presented me with this evidence.”

“Yeah, and so did we,” said Ron defiantly. “And we want him to stay. He’s a good teacher, and he’s our friend.”

“Don’t worry,” said Merlin, “I won’t just disappear if they decide they don’t want me around anymore. You can still call if you need me.”

Professor McGonagall bristled. “I, for one, have no intention of asking you to leave, even if you are… _him_.”

“Yes, don’t go!” added a whispery Professor Sprout. “The plants love having you around, and so do we.”

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. “I don’t understand… are you really…?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m Merlin, and this is Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King—this being the future in question, obviously. I can prove it if you need me to,” he added, sliding off the desk. “I’d just have to think of something…”

“No!” several people answered.

“That’s quite all right,” McGonagall added.

Merlin looked askance at them. “Oh, I didn’t do the thunder thing again, did I?”

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“Yes, that always has made people rather uneasy.”

Arthur looked round at him. “You took down nearly a full battalion of knights with thunder, can you blame them?”

“Well, _they_ didn’t know that,” Merlin chided, thwacking him lightly on the shoulder. “Besides, that was lightning. Thunder doesn’t kill people.”

“No, it just happens to be a _symptom_ of lightning, I’m not an idiot—”

“Oh, I don’t know, sire, I think I might require some corroboration on that count. Evidence. Substantiated research.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin snorted and went back to sit on the desk again. Arthur tried to grab him as he passed, but found himself with a handful of pencils instead.

Professor Flitwick let out a long breath and muttered, “I’d say that’s evidence enough.”

“What is?” Arthur asked, still somewhat on the defensive. He irritably deposited the pencils on the desk.

“Wandless magic,” said Flitwick quickly. “Merlin was famous for it.”

“That,” said Snape venomously, “and shapeshifting.”

Everyone looked dubiously at Merlin.

He rolled his eyes. “Arthur, I swear, I’ve told you about all of my disguises, all right? And since you’re all wondering, yes, this is what I really look like. My body reverts to this shape every time I die or get hit over the head.”

“Good to know,” said Arthur dryly.

After a moment, Professor McGonagall breathed, “So, you really can do nonverbal _and_ wandless magic.”

“What wandless magic?” asked the man whose pencils were idly performing synchronized gymnastics routines on his desk behind him.

Hermione pointed.

“Whoops,” said Merlin, shooing them back into a desk drawer as if they were just bothersome insects. “If I let go of my hold on my magic like that even a little bit, it tends to escape and mess around with things. Really got to stamp it back down in there… Wait, these aren’t even sharp.”

Merlin picked up a pencil and held it up to eye level, watching as it gradually shaved itself into a perfect point.

_“That,”_ said Hermione peevishly. “How are you doing that? Could you teach me the spell?”

The pencil stopped sharpening. Merlin frowned. “I’m not using a spell. Maybe I could make one up. Arthur, do you know any Latin?”

“Barba tenus sapientes,” said Arthur haughtily.

Merlin squinted at him. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m going to assume you’re calling me an idiot and respond accordingly.”

Arthur’s hair grew about two inches in all directions, falling directly in his eyes.

“If you mess with my hair one more time,” said Arthur (trying to push the strands away but finding that they wouldn’t reach behind his ears), “I swear I will start learning prank spells just to spite you.”

Merlin shrugged and started sharpening another pencil. “You’ve been saying that for years.” Behind him, the other pencils lined up and sharpened in perfect sync with the one in his hand; Merlin looked just a bit disappointed when he reached for another one only to find they were all done already.

Snape’s face grew increasingly sour as he looked on.

“Well,” said Professor McGonagall bracingly, “I believe Professor Ambrose has provided sufficient reason for both his immortality and his curriculum, so perhaps we all ought to return to our normal routines and go down to the Great Hall for dinner.”

“I suppose that’s all there is to do,” Professor Sprout agreed.

“Er, Professor Ambrose?” said Flitwick. “I mean, Mr. Merlin—I mean, Professor Merlin—"

“Best not say the name,” said Merlin helpfully.

“Right. I was going to ask, would you object to our informing the other members of staff? It appears there are few remaining who are not abreast of the information.”

“I suppose you may as well go ahead,” said Merlin with obvious reluctance. “They’ll find out anyway, at this rate. But we really must keep this away from students’ ears, because if Voldemort finds out, we’re going to be in a great deal of trouble.”

“Volde-what?” said Arthur.

Merlin groaned. “Arthur, we’ve discussed this!”

Arthur winked at Harry, who grinned back; this must be his payback.

* * *

Evidently, not everyone was able to wait until dinner was over to tell their colleagues about the secret immortal warlock in their midst.

Harry was made aware of this fact when Hagrid turned purple, dropped what looked like an entire chicken three feet back onto his plate with a loud clatter, and coughed for an exceedingly long time. Merlin, a few seats down, leaned around Arthur to eye Hagrid with concern. This did not improve matters.

Harry watched as Arthur convinced Merlin to stop worrying whilst sneakily adding more food to his friend’s plate. Snape, meanwhile, was watching them both suspiciously, and seemed to be swatting away an unusual number of flies. The fact that he had stumbled on his robes when walking up to the staff table made Harry fairly certain that Merlin had a hand in it.

Most of the talk at the Gryffindor table was about Arthur’s sudden appearance, but guests weren’t unheard of, so Harry wasn’t especially anxious about it. He turned back to his conversation with Ron as Hermione continued chatting away with Neville.

“Why don’t we go to Diagon Alley this summer and get you a new pet?” Harry suggested. “That’ll cheer you up.”

“Can’t afford one,” Ron lamented. “Scabbers—or whatever his name is—he was a hand-me-down.”

“High time for a new one, then, anyway,” said Harry bracingly. “Why don’t I pay for it? It’s partly my fault. Sort of.”

“No way,” said Ron. “You can’t do that. Besides, Mum wouldn’t stand for it.”

Harry couldn’t argue with him there.

“Oh, hello,” said Luna’s dreamy voice from behind Harry, as if she were surprised to see them there, at the Gryffindor table.

“Hello, Luna,” said Harry, and made room for her to sit.

Just then, another commotion arose from the staff table: Professor Trelawney had fallen off her chair.

“Oh,” said Luna pleasantly. “They must have found out about Emrys.”

Very slowly, Harry turned to stare at her. “Do _not_ tell me you knew about this the whole time.”

* * *

“She knew about that the whole time?” Merlin exclaimed the next morning.

“She knows you’re Emrys,” said Harry, speaking quietly as they walked down the hall to class. “She doesn’t seem to realise that Emrys and Merlin are the same person. Apparently, her family is descended from Druids.”

“Well,” Merlin sighed. “Suppose that’s all right, then. If she’s anything like the other Druids, she won’t give me away.”

“I won’t,” said Luna, materialising quite suddenly from the crowd.

“Gah!” Harry jumped, then shared a bemused look with Ron and Hermione.

Merlin, however, was probably much more used to this behaviour. “I appreciate it,” he said. “I didn’t know there were any Druid families left.”

“There are a few,” said Luna, falling into stride alongside them. “We’re trying to make a community again. But not everyone believes you’re still alive. My father does.”

“But Emrys _means_ ‘immortal’,” said Merlin.

“That’s what I said.”

He sighed. “They’re the ones who gave me this name in the first place…”

“Strange, isn’t it?” said Luna. “Well, I’ll see you in class, my lord,” she added as she skipped away.

“Don’t call me my lo—and she’s gone.”

“She does that,” said Ron.

“Well,” said Merlin, holding the classroom door open for them, “come in, then, we’re nearly late.”

They settled into their History of Magic class quickly, and Harry became so invested in the lesson on giant history and society that he was nearly able to forget there were only a few days left to write their _blasted_ essay.

For Merlin’s part, he finally had a day in which he didn’t have to field any questions about himself, if only because all the students were concerned about was the hubbub at dinner yesterday—which was, of course, _also_ about Merlin, but no one needed to know that.

Classes seemed to go by quickly, though that may have been partially because Potions class was made infinitely more entertaining by Snape’s sudden inability to pronounce certain words, notably ‘potion,’ ‘Longbottom,’ and (as they learned when they were unable to keep from laughing) ‘detention.’ Fortunately, the latter problem discouraged him from giving out too many. When school finally let out, the trio went back up to Merlin’s office with every intention of _actually_ getting some helpful information about the research project this time, but were foiled yet again by a sign on the door that read: _Gone to Hagrid’s._

So, naturally, they went to Hagrid’s.

In truth, Harry felt a bit guilty for spending so little time with Hagrid recently, particularly given Buckbeak’s upcoming trial for slashing that git Malfoy. As he, Ron and Hermione made their way out onto the grounds, they agreed they really ought to start working on that as soon as they finished the _bloody_ research essay that had started all of this.

The afternoon shadows were beginning to lengthen, and it was chilly on the grounds, but it was a pleasant relief after being cooped up inside for so long. They could see the lights on inside Hagrid’s hut as they approached, and as the sky grew redder, the lake and the forest grew darker and—

“What is that?” asked Harry, stopping in his tracks to squint at the small figure between the trees. It wasn’t moving, but it looked like a…

“Merlin’s beard!” Ron squeaked. “It’s the Grim—run!”

Considering what had happened the last time Harry saw the giant black dog, he needed very little convincing. He chased down the hill after Ron and Hermione, running so quickly that the lot of them nearly smacked into Hagrid’s door. Harry glanced once behind him and didn’t see the creature, but he wasn’t willing to risk it.

They pounded on the door, shouting, “It’s us, Hagrid, let us in!”

Fang started barking, there were muffled voices, and then the trio fell through the door on top of each other when Hagrid opened it. They righted themselves, Harry slammed the door behind them, and then they were panting into the otherwise calm, quiet cabin.

“Er,” said Arthur, who was sitting at Hagrid’s kitchen table. “You three all right?”

They nodded breathlessly.

“Sit,” said Hagrid. “Have a cup o’ tea. I was jus’ makin’ some. Filch on yer tail or summat?”

“The Grim,” Ron squeaked, plopping into a chair. “Saw the Grim.”

“What’s a Grim?” asked Merlin.

_“Supposedly,”_ said Hermione, with a surprising level of disdain for someone who had just been running for her life, “it’s an omen of death. It appears in the form of a large black dog and is said to haunt—”

But Merlin was already scrambling out of his chair and heading for the door.

“Where are you _going?”_ said Arthur exasperatedly, already pulling his coat on.

“You stay here,” Merlin said, gesturing for him to sit back down. “I have to find that dog. Remus said—wait, I can’t go as a dragon—Arthur, what’s Latin for ‘dog’?”

“Er… felis? Why do you want to—”

But with one cry of “Felis!” Merlin was gone, replaced by a very small, black and white, blue-eyed kitten.

It mewed angrily.

“Sorry,” said Arthur insincerely. “Guess I mixed them up. Wait, why are you a kitten and not a cat? You’re over a thousand years old. I did always tell you you were immature.”

The kitten arched its back and hissed, its fur becoming even fluffier than it already was as it puffed up indignantly. It ran to the door—which opened for it—and trotted haughtily away.

Hermione put her head in her hands, muttering, “That’s not how spells work…”

The door closed with a satisfying click. Hagrid stood blankly in the middle of the room. Now that the commotion had abruptly ended, they came to the collective realisation that the kettle had been whistling for some time now.

“What was that about?” asked Harry. “Should we go after him?”

“Nah,” said Arthur, taking his coat back off. “If we hear a dragon roar, that means it’s getting serious. Don’t worry; you can’t miss it.”

“T-tea?” Hagrid stammered, apparently struggling to find anything else to say.

“Please,” said Arthur.

As Hagrid started shakily pouring, he asked, “Do ye take milk or sugar?”

“No, thank you,” said Arthur graciously, taking the offered cup and completely ignoring the barking and growling coming from outside. “This is perfect.”

“Me too,” said Harry absently, setting his cup on the table as he craned his neck to see outside.

“So,” said Arthur as Hagrid continued bustling about, “is Merlin a good teacher? I was never around to see him with apprentices, so I’ve always wondered.”

Hagrid nearly dropped his tea at the mention of Merlin’s name.

Outside, the chorus of hissing, spitting and growling continued.

“Erm,” said Hermione. “I think he’s great, actually. He’s good at explaining things in a way that makes sense.”

“And he always makes class interesting,” Ron added.

“That’s good,” said Arthur. The barking outside was beginning to sound more like yapping. “I had to learn fourteen centuries’ worth of history from him and it was a nightmare, but that’s mostly because we got sidetracked every two minutes.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, giving up on the window. “You guys argue a lot.”

“Well, we spent a lot of time riding alone in the woods together; I suppose bickering helped pass the time.”

“Weird pastime,” said Ron, glancing toward the door at the sound of some very small mews.

“You have _no_ room to talk,” said Harry.

“Come to think of it, all the knights did that,” said Arthur. “I’m beginning to think we had a slight problem.”

It was quiet outside again.

“Are they coming back anytime soon?” asked Harry.

“Probably not,” said Arthur. “You know how much of a chatterbox Merlin is.”


	25. Anything greater than two is a noteworthy number of cats

A large and scary-looking dog had taken to loitering near Hagrid’s cabin around the end of each school day. It seemed to have taken a liking to Buckbeak, though it was rather less friendly towards the slobbery Fang.

Hagrid himself, despite having more frequent guests in his cabin, was spending more time up at the castle: ever since he had learned Merlin was a Dragonlord (which was also news to the trio), he had drawn him into dragon-related conversations a total of seventeen times now, by Harry’s count. Neither one of them seemed to tire of it.

Others had not taken the news that Merlin was alive quite so well. Professor Flitwick seemed too apprehensive to bombard him with questions just yet, but jumped about a foot every time Merlin entered his presence, despite Merlin’s best efforts to arrive everywhere in an especially loud fashion. Professor Sprout, on the other hand, seemed to somehow know that Merlin’s magic was essentially elemental in nature, and had ushered him down into the greenhouses several times in an effort to encourage the plants to grow faster, which actually seemed to be working.

Professor Trelawney, meanwhile, seemed to spend the vast majority of her spare time lurking in the environs of wherever Merlin happened to be, staring at him with large, buggy eyes from around corners or over people’s heads. Occasionally, if there happened to be an audience, she would blurt out a ‘prophecy’ full of thinly veiled hints, but if Merlin shot a warning look in her direction, she would give it up for the rest of the day.

Filch, as it happened, was more interested in Arthur—which Arthur seemed rather smug about, though he really shouldn’t have been. Nevertheless, it was highly entertaining when Arthur responded to Filch’s (unsurprising) questions about medieval methods of discipline with (probably exaggerated) stories of how he punished Merlin for various transgressions. Merlin generally responded by giving Arthur another stupid haircut, which inevitably led to Arthur chasing him through the castle and shouting until one of them was either caught or ran into something.

These antics never failed to send Professor McGonagall’s eyebrows shooting into her hairline (especially after Peeves began getting involved), but then again, roughhousing in the corridors was probably the easiest way to dispel rumours that you were secretly an invincible warlock and his legendary king.

Fortunately for the ongoing entertainment of Hogwarts’ students, Arthur apparently had no intention of returning home—wherever that was—as he had seemed to forget entirely about the television he had originally wanted Merlin to fix.

It was on a rainy but cosy Saturday afternoon that the black and white kitten made another appearance, riding into the library atop Arthur’s shoulder to join the trio at their table where they had _finally_ started on their essay.

“Hello, you lot,” said Arthur, taking a seat and setting the kitten very carefully down on the desk. “You’d better not be making Hermione do all the work, you know.”

“We aren’t,” said Harry and Ron, who had heard this several times over the past few days, primarily from Merlin.

The kitten wandered over to a nearby book which was left open and sat down to read it. Arthur absently stroked the tiny creature’s fur; it had quickly become obvious that he was even less able to resist Merlin’s general aura of cheerfulness when he was concentrated into a smaller form.

“What did you decide to write about, then?” Arthur asked.

Hermione’s quill stopped scratching and she hummed reluctantly.

“It’s a surprise,” Ron supplied.

“That’s ominous.”

“Speaking of ominous,” said Harry, who had been looking for an opening to ask about Black again and decided this would have to do, “I suppose Mer—Professor Ambrose was out with Black?” He indicated the cat.

“Yeah,” said Arthur as he annoyed the kitten by repeatedly poking its ear. “I think he likes bouncing around in the woods, even if he denies it.”

The kitten meowed.

“Shut up,” said Arthur automatically. “Anyway, we were thinking we’d sneak this Sirius bloke up to the headmaster’s office this evening to meet with him and Remus and figure out what to do next. You lot coming with us?”

Hermione hesitated. “I don’t know if Professor Dumbledore would let us.”

“He’s _my_ godfather,” said Harry in a low voice to avoid being overheard, though there was no one around. “I have to meet him sometime. And maybe if he’s all right, I can stay with him instead of the Dursleys.”

“That’s moving a bit fast, don’t you think?” she said. “I mean, he didn’t actually murder anyone, apparently, but he _did_ spend twelve years in prison, and you’ve never even met him.”

“His family really is awful, Hermione,” said Ron matter-of-factly.

“It’s settled, then,” said Arthur. “You’re coming with us. Merlin, will you turn back into a person already? I’m sick of carrying you everywhere.”

“Miss my chatter, did you?” grinned the young man who suddenly appeared on top of the table.

_“No,”_ said Arthur as Merlin clambered down into a chair beside him. “’M just bored. Come on, let’s go practice on the broomsticks for a while.”

“Avalon, no,” said Merlin quickly. “You get into enough trouble on the ground.”

Arthur got to his feet and dragged Merlin up with him. “You’d better be there to save me, then.”

Merlin groaned as he was pulled from the room. “Should’ve stayed a cat. By the way, Arthur, what _is_ dog in Latin? I’m trying to fit in here, I need to learn some real spells.”

* * *

That evening, Harry, Ron and Hermione met up with a man, a dog, and four cats in an empty corridor.

“Erm,” said Harry, “Why do you have so many cats?”

“Crookshanks!” said Hermione to the orange cat, who was winding its way around her ankles.

Harry also recognised Mrs. Norris, who was standing apart from the group and watching them all intently. The black and white cat sitting on the dog’s back was obviously Merlin, but Harry had no idea where the tabby cat had come from.

“Animals like Mer—Martin,” Arthur answered wearily.

The large dog looked into Harry’s face with intelligent eyes, then sniffed tentatively at his shoe.

“Er, hello,” said Harry awkwardly. “Sorry for running away the other day. Ron thought you were the Grim.”

The dog barked once, and Harry thought it might very well be laughing at him.

“Shush,” said Arthur. “We don’t want anyone to know you’re—”

“Sirius?” came a voice from down the corridor, and suddenly Professor Lupin was hastening towards them. Harry wondered if he had smelled Sirius’s presence, being a werewolf, but thought it would be rude to ask.

The dog barked again and whipped around to run and meet Lupin halfway, barrelling into him and nearly knocking him over when he jumped up on his hind legs to lick Lupin’s face. The tiny cat on his back was nearly dislodged, but just barely managed to hang on.

“Sirius!” Lupin exclaimed, and knelt down to put his arms around the shaggy dog. “It _is_ you.” The dog tried to lick his face again and Lupin pushed his snout away with a laugh. “Gross.”

He frowned when he noticed the kitten still stuck to his fur—then frowned some more when he saw the rest of them.

“Why do you have so many cats?” he asked the dog.

“That one’s Martin,” Arthur explained, “this one’s Hermione’s, and I don’t know about those two. Now come on, let’s get to the headmaster’s office before we collect any more of them.”

They quickened their pace to reach the stone gargoyle, for which Lupin provided the password, and by the time they reached the top of the steps, they had also acquired, from seemingly nowhere, a very small owl, which sat beside Merlin on the dog’s back.

Arthur knocked.

“Enter,” said Dumbledore, and they opened the door and trailed in.

“Good evening,” said the headmaster, who was sitting behind his desk. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

Those who were currently human took their seats, but neither Sirius nor Merlin made any move to change back. Merlin politely removed himself from the tangle of Sirius’s fur, dragging the owl with him, and before long, Arthur had a kitten on one shoulder and a miniature owl on the other. The dog stood awkwardly in a huddle of cats.

“Thank you all for coming,” said Professor Dumbledore. “As you know—”

“Merlin’s beard, Dumbledore,” someone interrupted. Harry looked up to discover that the portrait of Godric Gryffindor was awake and squinting down at them all. “Why are there so many cats in your office?”

“That is a good question,” Dumbledore agreed.

“Animals like him,” Arthur repeated dully, gesturing at the cat on his shoulder.

“Ah,” said Dumbledore, looking into the cat’s bright blue eyes. “That’s right. Shapeshifting. In any case, Mr. Black, you may feel free to transform back now; I assure you that it is perfectly safe.”

The dog shuffled his feet and let out a small whine.

Lupin leaned down to touch his fur lightly. “It’s all right. No one’s going to turn you in, I promise.”

Slowly, as if the transition was difficult, the dog began to grow, standing up as its snout shrunk and its rough fur transitioned into a mass of dark, matted hair which hung down nearly to the man’s elbows. From within a skeletal, sallow face, dark eyes darted around nervously.

“Hello, Remus,” he said, voice painfully hoarse. After a moment, he added, “You look terrible.”

“And you look far worse, as always,” said Lupin, pulling him down into the chair beside him and hugging him again.

“Is he dead?” he eventually asked.

“No. The Ministry took him—to Azkaban.”

Black shuddered, but said nothing. He looked warily around at everyone, and his eyes caught on Harry.

“Yeah,” said Lupin carefully. “That’s Harry.”

“Hello,” said Harry again. “It’s… nice to meet you.”

“We’ve met,” Black mumbled. “Don’t suppose you remember that, though. ‘S good to see you’re doing well.”

At that moment, Crookshanks leapt up onto Black’s lap and sniffed at him.

“Oh, hello again,” said Black, his face softening into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but which came fairly close. “And the cat and the owl,” he added, staring at the creatures on Arthur’s shoulders. “I don’t know the rest of you.”

“My name’s Arthur,” he said courteously. “This is Ron and Hermione, friends of Harry’s. I don’t know about those cats, but this one is my friend. He Transfigured himself into a cat even though he meant to be a dog.”

Merlin’s transformation was much quicker. One second, there was a cat, and the next, Merlin was standing there with one hand on Arthur’s shoulder where he had just been sitting. Black jumped at his sudden appearance.

“You’re the one who gave me the wrong spell,” Merlin retorted, then abruptly changed tone to address Sirius. “Don’t listen to anything he says. Anyhow, it’s good to meet you in person—so to speak. I am not, in fact, a cat.”

“You’re an Animagus?” Black managed.

“Yes, but I’m not a cat then, either. Sorry, introductions are a bit difficult when you’re unable to talk, but I reckon we may as well get it over with now: I’m the History of Magic teacher, Martin Ambrose, but my real name is Merlin.”

Black stared at him blankly.

He stared back. “You know, the original Merlin,” he clarified.

Arthur sighed. “He means the one famous for blowing up armies with his mind.”

Merlin cuffed him on the back of the head. “That was lightning, how many times do I have to tell you? And anyway, I can do more than blow things up, thank you.” To prove it, he conjured a tiny figurine from thin air and handed it to Black. “Here. It’s a dog made out of wood. My father made one for me, except it was a dragon, and he made it with a knife, and it was an exceedingly long time ago.”

“Erm. Thanks.”

“You may notice a very small dog-shaped hole in that tree right there,” said Merlin, pointing out of the window into the Forbidden Forest. “Feel free to ignore that.”

Arthur groaned. “God, Merlin, do you ever shut up?”

“Oh, and this is my friend Arthur Pendragon.”

“I’m not your friend, I’m your king.”

“You can be more than one thing at once, turnip-head. For example: you’re my friend, _and_ you’re an arse.”

“Excuse me,” said Professor Lupin. “The fact that Merlin and Arthur are still alive is not really the—”

“Actually,” Arthur interrupted, “Merlin’s the one who’s ‘still’ alive. I’m alive _again_.”

“The point is,” Lupin continued, “yes, it’s true, that really is Merlin. Please don’t ask him to prove it; who knows what will happen this time. More importantly, the Ministry has _agreed_ to give you an official pardon, but they haven’t actually done it yet. For now, you’d better continue laying low.”

“Right…” Black shook his head like a wet dog and finally stopped staring at Merlin. “That’s better than I expected, really. Thought they might still try to pin something on me.”

“We had hoped,” said Professor Dumbledore, “that you might agree to testify at the trial.”

Black shrugged. “If you think it would help…”

“Certainly, it would,” said Lupin. “But you should probably get a haircut first.”


	26. Do your homework; sometimes it will take you on an unexpected adventure

As Dumbledore, Black and Lupin made arrangements to keep Black safe before Pettigrew’s trial, the tiny owl zoomed erratically around the ceiling whilst Ron eyed the remaining cats with concern.

“Sorry,” he finally blurted, still staring at the unfamiliar tabby, “but where did that cat come from? Are we sure it’s not a spy, or an Animagus, or something?”

“She’s all right,” said Merlin. “She lives in the forest—I think she might have been a student’s pet once. But she’s not an Animagus.”

“Well.” Eyes narrowed, Ron watched the cat lick her paw. “If you’re sure.”

“We met this little guy in the forest, too,” Merlin added, plucking the tiny owl out of the air as it zoomed past. It looked at him indignantly, but then again, owls generally just looked like that. “Sirius and I, I mean. He’s quite a friendly owl, if hyperactive. I thought you might like to keep him—you know, to replace Scabbers. He’s about the same size, but he can carry letters, which is useful.”

Merlin grinned and deposited the owl into Ron’s palm, whereupon it set about trying (and largely failing) to find a comfortable spot.

“Oh—thanks,” said Ron. “Maybe I won’t have to use Errol anymore now.” He tentatively patted the owl on the head with one finger, which seemed to satisfy it.

“Good!” Merlin beamed. “I did feel bad about that.”

“Here,” said Ron, and to the surprise of everyone, he leaned down to present his new pet to Crookshanks. “How’s this one, then?”

The cat gave the owl a curious sniff and made no move to eat it, which was a good sign.

“Suppose he must be safe, then,” said Ron cheerfully. “All right. The owl can stay.”

Hermione stared at Ron with an expression akin to wonderment, and Crookshanks seemed content to continue sitting by his feet without fear of getting kicked. Harry was just thankful the pet wars appeared to be over.

“Gods, Merlin,” said Arthur suddenly, “sit down. Why are you so fidgety today?”

Harry didn’t think Merlin looked particularly fidgety at all, but Arthur did seem to be the expert on all things Merlin.

“I’m _not,”_ Merlin protested. “Everything’s fine.”

Arthur groaned. “Are you having a vision again? Because if you’re going to faint, I—”

“No! It’s just—ugh. I feel something evil in here, all right? I don’t like it.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say something?”

“Because I didn’t want to be rude!”

“Something evil?” asked Dumbledore calmly.

“See?” said Merlin. “Now he’s offended.”

“Not at all,” said Dumbledore. “I would merely like to get rid of any ‘evil’ artefacts that have found their way into Hogwarts—if you are able to identify it more precisely, that is.”

“Oh, sure.”

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and stretched his arm out in front of him, waving it around like a dowsing rod. Arthur rolled his eyes and gently pushed Merlin’s hand away when it came close to hitting him in the face.

“It’s nearby,” Merlin muttered, then took a few steps forward, walking right into Dumbledore’s desk.

“Ah.” He tapped the wood of Dumbledore’s desk. “Here it is.”

“The desk?” Arthur asked.

Merlin opened his eyes. “No, clotpole, it’s in the top drawer.”

Dumbledore opened the drawer. “Ah. I believe I can guess what you are sensing,” he said, and drew out Tom Riddle’s ruined diary, handing it to Merlin.

Merlin frowned at the book and its stab wounds, took it—then instantly dropped it as if burned.

“Ew,” he said.

“That’s it then, is it?” Arthur asked, picking it up off the desk.

“Oh, definitely,” said Merlin, brushing his hand off on his trousers as if contaminated. “There’s something bad in there.”

Arthur opened the book and flipped through the pages.

Merlin sighed. “Not ‘in’ it, _in_ it. I mean someone put something foul inside the book—something tainted. I think it’s gone now, though. That’s probably what the stabbing was about.”

“It was,” said Harry. “I’m the one who stabbed it. It possessed Ron’s sister.”

“Of course!” Merlin exclaimed, taking the book from Arthur again to examine it, then remembering his mistake and dropping it again. Arthur irritably picked it up off the floor. “It’s a Horcrux.”

“What’s a Horcrux?” several people asked at once.

Merlin chose to address his answer to Harry. “It’s a sort of… a piece of someone’s soul. Splitting the soul is an inherently corrupt act which goes against nature—that’s probably why it’s so repellent to me, just like when people try to traverse the barrier between life and death when they’re not supposed to. Anyway, the goal is immortality, because if you’re killed, that piece of your soul will live on, and there are ways to re-animate it—chiefly, possession, or something like the Philosopher’s Stone. It’s not real immortality, though; I should know. One of these tried to possess me once, actually.”

Arthur squinted. “When was this?”

“That bloke Cedric was possessed first. You know, the jewel from Sigan’s tomb? It got him, and tried to get me.”

“But it didn’t?”

“Obviously not. Kilgharrah gave me a spell to force him back into the jewel. I have to admit, though,” he said, eyeing the diary, “this appears to be much more effective.”

“You _did_ destroy that jewel, didn’t you?” asked Arthur suspiciously.

“Oh, yeah, eventually. I had to use your sword, though, nothing else would work.”

Arthur straightened. “You stole my sword?” he exclaimed.

Merlin waved a hand vaguely. “Oh, no, this was before I gave it to you.”

“You _didn’t_ give it to me, I pulled it out of the—” he froze. “Damn it.”

Merlin grinned sheepishly.

With a long-suffering sigh, Arthur rubbed his temples and said, “You made that whole thing up, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Merlin laughed. “Of course I did.”

“Hang on,” said Harry. “Are you talking about the Sword in the Stone?”

Arthur growled.

“It wasn’t real?” said Ron, sounding disappointed.

“Well, it _existed,_ ” Merlin hedged. “I asked Gwen to give me her best sword, convinced the dragon to enchant it using his fire, and then some things happened and I had to hide it somewhere, so I just stuck it in a rock in the woods. Then, later, I let Arthur take it out.”

“You _let_ me?” Arthur groaned. “You told me this whole story about—ugh, you’re such a bastard.”

Merlin just laughed at him, rather proving his point.

* * *

Things finally began to calm down after that. As Dumbledore had admitted that there was likely no place safer, in the entire wizarding world, than Merlin’s home, it was decided that Black would stay there with Arthur for the time being; and since it was located in a Muggle village, he would even be able to roam the area in human shape every so often—that is, _after_ he got a decent meal, a comb, and some clothes that weren’t prison rags.

As an extra precaution, Merlin enchanted the little dog figurine with a few protection and concealment charms, then handed it back to Black on a small string of twine. Black still seemed deeply uncertain about Merlin overall, but this gesture at least made him visibly more comfortable.

The three of them were to Apparate back to Merlin’s home that very night: Harry, Ron and Hermione, of course, insisted on tagging along, as did Professor Lupin.

“Don’t worry,” Merlin told Dumbledore before Disapparating with six people clinging apprehensively to his sleeves, “I’ll take care of the Horcruxes. It’ll be like a treasure hunt!”

Arthur looked irritable, but all he could get out was “What—” before the whole group was whisked away, landing rather roughly in a small, cosy room filled with stacks of books, a few mismatched armchairs, and the dark, creaking wood of the floor and ceiling. The room was illuminated only by the pink light of the setting sun which poured through the windows, sparkling against the dust particles floating in the chilly air.

As the lot of them picked themselves up off the floor, Harry noted that none of the rugs strewn about the room matched in size, colour or motif and wondered how that was even possible. He also came very close to bumping into a stack of books taller than he was, which would probably have caused a life-threatening chain reaction, and wondered yet again why Merlin insisted on filling his many bookshelves with non-book items.

Merlin, for his part, was already bustling about the room, darting around his frozen guests; as he gathered up a wide variety of objects in his arms to move them out of the way, a cloud of doodads quickly began trailing behind him as well. He stopped to make a vague gesture toward the hearth, which ignited instantly into a raging fire. The trail of odds and ends, however, did not stop in time, and they all crashed into the back of Merlin’s head. Spluttering, he turned to shoo them away—dropping several books as he did so—and they all traipsed dejectedly into the other room. Including the books now scuttling across the floor.

Arthur sighed and guided a dumbstruck Sirius Black into the armchair nearest the fire. “Merlin,” he called, following the warlock up an equally hazardous set of stairs. “Where’s he going to sleep? The basement?”

“Avalon, no,” came Merlin’s muffled reply. “I’m clearing out the guest room.”

“We have a guest room?”

Harry couldn’t hear what Merlin said next, but Arthur replied with a loud, “I absolutely _forbid_ you to magic up another floor!”

Harry, Ron and Hermione awkwardly took seats near the fireplace as Black and Lupin stared bemusedly up at the ceiling, where Arthur’s angry footsteps could be heard following Merlin’s lighter, erratic ones.

“Wonder what’s in the basement,” Ron whispered.

“That’s it!” they heard Arthur exclaim. “I’m moving out!”

Despite the fact that they could only hear his side of the conversation, Harry did not believe even for a second that Arthur had any intention of leaving. But for want of an adequate conversation starter with a former felon, Harry turned his attention to the nearest window, where, through a partial curtain of vines, he could see an old stone street with a few quaint, thatched-roof houses bordered by blooming, overgrown gardens.

Arthur and Merlin thundered down the stairs only a few moments later, still mid-argument.

“—well, _I’m_ not sleeping down there, I have standards—”

“Oh, you should be glad my mother’s ghost didn’t hear that, she’d have your hide…”

“—wait, what? _Please_ tell me your mother’s ghost isn’t actually living here, Merlin. Merlin?”

Merlin laughed, setting down the basket in his arms beside the fire. “Oh, come on, Arthur, she would never want to live as a ghost. She’d demand the Cailleach let her through to the other side ‘this instant’.”

Black cleared his throat nervously. “Erm, I don’t mind staying in the basement… anything’s fine.”

“Nonsense,” said Merlin. “You’re sleeping in a proper bed. Besides, we _have_ a guest room,” he added in Arthur’s direction. “There’s almost no furniture in the basement,” he explained. “I kept it just like it was when my mother lived here. ‘Course, it used to be the ground (and only) floor, but over time, the land rearranged itself a bit. It does that.”

“Hang on,” said Ron. “Are you saying this is your real house? I mean, the one you lived in during the Middle Ages?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Merlin nonchalantly as he rummaged through the basket. “I was born in this house. This village used to be called Ealdor. It looked a lot different then, obviously, but I made sure people always felt welcome to live here, over the years. I couldn’t preserve Camelot all on my own—not to mention that all the important people were gone—but I eventually came back here, fixed up the house, made things grow again… I built a lot of the houses here, actually. It was completely abandoned, and it didn’t seem right. There should always be life here.”

Merlin handed the dumbstruck Sirius a scone, which he took automatically. “Here,” he said. “Eat that. There’s clothes and things in this basket for you, and if you like, you can use the washroom upstairs while I make some real food. The guest room is cleaning itself up—or it should be—Arthur, would you check and make sure it’s behaving? Anyway, I have to go back to Hogwarts in the morning, but just ask Arthur for anything you need, and if he can’t get it, he’ll ask me.”

“Erm,” said Sirius. “Thank you. So, you’re really…?”

“Yeah,” he said timidly. “Bit disappointing, I’m sure, but there you have it…”

Arthur glared at him—which Merlin seemed to sense without needing to look, because he winced—and Sirius shook his head. “Not… really how I would describe it, actually.”

But he said no more on the subject, and Merlin wandered through another door which opened into a cluttered but clean kitchen.

Pausing in the door, he said, “Hot cocoa isn’t, strictly speaking, ‘real food,’ but I was thinking of making some anyway. You three want to help Arthur with that while I work on the boring bit? It’s practically the only thing Arthur _can_ make, but he's still going to need supervision.”

“Shut up,” said Arthur, but followed him anyway.

Harry, Ron and Hermione eagerly agreed and joined them as Sirius and Lupin headed upstairs warily, the former carrying the basket.

* * *

An hour or so later, they were all seated around a heavy wooden table downstairs, in what looked very much like a medieval cabin. They were surrounded by the warmth from a crackling hearth, hot drinks, and boisterous laugher as Merlin and Arthur interrupted each other constantly to tell two wildly different versions of a story about Sirs Gwaine and Percival.

The warm smell of smoke from the hearth and of the dry earth beneath their feet were muted by what Harry could swear was a cool breeze from the magical windows, through which he could see the first stars twinkling into existence. Candles drifted slowly around the room, too, which Merlin said he used to do as a boy; stories of Merlin’s childhood antics followed, and of his poor mother’s attempts to manage a child whose every whim became reality. Harry could not help but picture an even more harried Mrs. Weasley-like figure.

Ron and Hermione asked too many questions to count, and when Arthur wasn’t interrupting, he just watched Merlin as he spoke, betraying the obvious fact that he actually cared about what he had to say. Sirius was finally beginning to look like more of a person again, some of the sallow, hollow look already worn away by warmth and laughter. He had changed into clothes that appeared to be Arthur’s, magically altered to fit him, and though he had clearly hacked off much of his hair roughly, it now fell to his shoulders in wavy black locks rather than a dirty, matted mess. He even looked younger now, and so, Harry realised, did Lupin.

But it was growing late, and soon enough, Merlin had to Apparate the trio back to Hogwarts, promising that they could visit again soon. Harry didn’t mention his wish to leave the Dursleys’ home, but he had a feeling that neither Merlin, nor Arthur, nor Sirius would want him to go back there once they knew what it was like. He’d ask them soon enough.

They arrived in the empty Gryffindor common room (Lupin and Arthur having stayed behind at the house), and the tiredness that had been creeping up on them all night finally caught up with them. After giving each of them a potion to help them sleep, Merlin Disapparated again to leave them to their rest. Harry didn’t even bother to ask where he had got them from.

But before they went up to bed, there was one last thing to do. Under Harry’s cloak, the three of them snuck down to Merlin’s office—taking care to avoid Mrs. Norris—and slipped a stack of papers under the door: an essay titled “Gaius of Ealdor: Wizard, Physician and Mentor.” It was, perhaps, toeing the line of their research restrictions, and it was rather poor in scholarly sources, but after all they had been through, who could blame them? Attached to the final page was the last photo Hermione had taken during their impromptu field trip. It depicted a sleepy, messy-haired Merlin poring over a large book, pen in one hand—and Gaius, just out of his line of sight, holding a solution that was on the verge of bubbling over, watching him with a look of proud fondness.


	27. Epilogue (Part 1 of 2)

When the Goblet of Fire lit up with red flame for a fourth time, announcing Harry’s name, his first thought was, _Of course. Why would I be allowed one year to study in peace?_ His second thought, as he walked up to the staff table in the Great Hall and toward the next chamber, was, _I need to call Merlin._

Everyone stared at him silently as he made his way to the other room, not sure what else to do. No one believed that he hadn’t put his name in, not even Ron and Hermione—not even, apparently, Professor Dumbledore. Surely, they wouldn’t make him compete? He was underage. He hadn’t even entered the competition.

The three champions looked confused when he joined them, but before any conversation could be had, Ludo Bagman strode in, explaining how the age restriction was unofficial, how the magical contract was binding… Harry cringed. If he was going to get out of a binding magical contract, he would _definitely_ need Merlin’s help. Not even Dumbledore could circumvent something like that.

Only seconds later, a large group of people came in: Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Lupin, followed by Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff and Mr. Crouch. Harry could hear the uneasy buzzing of the students in the Great Hall beyond before they shut the door behind them.

Though Dumbledore remained impassive, Lupin and McGonagall, at least, seemed to believe Harry’s story, judging by their uneasy whispering. Lupin hadn’t seemed to understand, last year, why Merlin was so insistent that he take over his History of Magic position in order to pre-emptively avoid the Defence Against the Dark Arts curse, but given Harry’s track record with wizarding superstitions, he didn’t even question it. Merlin had said “Here, Remus, you take my job, Arthur and I have got Horcruxes to hunt,” and the conversation had basically ended there. Harry was just glad Lupin was still here.

But Dumbledore’s arrival was apparently the trigger for everyone to voice their complaints, as the room immediately exploded into shouts, almost all of which were protesting Harry’s involvement, though nobody seemed to care that he was in full agreement with them.

“What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” said Madame Maxime, whose enormous hand rested upon Fleur Delacour’s shoulder. “’Ogwarts cannot ‘ave two champions. It is most injust.”

“We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff, eyes colder than ever.

Professor Dumbledore, meanwhile, was looking down at Harry, who looked right back, trying to discern the expression behind his half-moon spectacles.

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” he asked calmly.

“No,” said Harry, keenly aware of everyone’s eyes on him.

“Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?”

 _“No,”_ said Harry vehemently.

“Ah, but of course ‘e is lying!”

“Mr. Crouch, Mr. Bagman,” said Karkaroff, his smile steely, “you are our objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?”

Bagman looked to Crouch, who answered curtly, “We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

“Convenient, eh?” growled a voice from near the door. “If the headmaster has determined that Potter could not have crossed the Age Line, nor did he convince an older student to do it for him, someone must have put Potter’s name in that goblet knowing he’d have to compete if it came out. Probably put him in his own category, too, just to make sure of it.”

Bagman, bouncing nervously up and down on his feet, said, “Moody, old man… what a thing to say!”

“You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody,” added Karkaroff coldly.

“Why and how this deception took place,” said Dumbledore, “is not the most pressing issue. It is clear that the Goblet has been tampered with. At the moment, we must determine how to rectify the situation so that all rules are adhered to.”

“But it doesn’t work like that,” said Bagman. “The Goblet of Fire’s just gone out—it won’t reignite until the start of the next tournament.”

“Be that as it may,” said Dumbledore, “I should like to call in an expert on magical contracts and artefacts. I am sure that he will be able to ensure that no one school has an unfair advantage.”

Madam Maxime looked somewhat mollified at this, but Karkaroff’s eyes narrowed. “And just who is this ‘expert,’ Dumbledore?”

Dumbledore smiled serenely. “I believe I shall leave that to his discretion.”

Everyone but the Hogwarts professors looked confused at this, but Harry felt his rapidly beating heart slow down slightly at the implication. Everything was going to be fine.

Before anyone could question him, Dumbledore used his wand to draw the glowing white image of a triskelion in mid-air. As he did so, five runes appeared around it. He opened his mouth—presumably to incant a spell—but was interrupted by Fleur’s gasp.

“But zat is forbidden magic!”

“What do you mean?” asked Madam Maxime sharply. “What is ‘e doing?”

“I recognise it,” said Karkaroff haughtily. “Those are the runes of a Druidic deity. What are you playing at, Dumbledore?”

“Ze Veela know him too,” said Fleur. “We must not summon ze Emrys!”

Madam Maxime said nothing, though she looked fidgety at the sound of the name. Moody merely stood in the corner looking suspicious whilst Crouch stared blankly, as ever.

For the first time, Krum spoke up. “If this person can keep Hogwarts from having two champions, ve must consult him, no?”

“Quite,” agreed Dumbledore, and before anyone could protest, he began to chant an ancient-sounding spell. Fleur squeaked, but did not dare interrupt. Dumbledore continued his chant for a rather long time, but Harry suspected the spell was intentionally long in order to prevent anyone from repeating it once they heard it. It had Arthur written all over it.

Dumbledore’s voice grew louder as he chanted, and there seemed to be a slight wind coming from somewhere; when the spell was finished, the triskelion expanded and floated down to the ground, where it glowed gold on the stone floor. The brightness grew and grew until it was painful to look at, and then—a soft _pop_ sound, and it was gone. They all looked back at the spot to see a familiar, lanky, dark-haired young man standing, bewildered, in the middle of the room. Harry beamed.

Merlin looked around blankly, taking in all the astonished, horrified and delighted faces in the room. The quill that he held in one hand was steadily dripping ink onto the floor. But he seemed to put his misgivings aside, his expression soon brightening.

“Hi,” he said cheerfully. Ink was dripping onto his shoe now.

With a strangled noise, Fleur practically dove into a deep bow. Beside her, Madam Maxime just wrung her hands and avoided eye contact. Karkaroff’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head, but Krum and Cedric looked nonplussed.

“Er—please don’t do that,” Merlin said in Fleur’s direction, tone carefully gentle. “I’ve really… never been sure how to respond to that.”

She quickly stood up stick-straight, mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to say something, but no sound left her mouth.

“Don’t panic,” said Merlin. “It’s quite all right. Did you recognise my runes?”

Fleur nodded quickly.

“Come on, Dumbledore, you couldn’t just go into the next room…?” Merlin sighed. “Well, I suppose, on this particular occasion, this might make things easier rather than harder… Headmaster, am I right in assuming this has something to do with the magical artefact in the next room?”

“Indeed you are,” said Dumbledore.

“Right.” Merlin finally seemed to notice his quill, which had run out of ink, and chucked it over his shoulder, where it disappeared in mid-air. “Ah! It’s the Goblet of Fire.”

“Quite right,” said Dumbledore. “It seems young Harry here has been chosen as Hogwarts’ second champion.”

“Excuse me,” said Ludo Bagman. “Who is this?”

“Right, sorry,” said Merlin with a sheepish grin. He tried and failed to wipe the ink stains from his fingers before stepping out of the triskelion—which promptly disappeared—and shaking Bagman’s hand. “I’m Emrys.”

“Impossible!” Karkaroff exclaimed. “Emrys is a myth.”

“And what do you see, Alastor?” asked Dumbledore calmly. Harry wondered for a moment to whom he was speaking before realising ‘Mad-Eye’ could hardly be Moody’s real first name.

Moody eyed Merlin for some time, magical eye uncharacteristically still. “Definitely a magical creature of some kind,” he determined. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like him before, though,” he added, sounding curious.

“Hm,” said Merlin, staring back at him. “There’s something familiar about you. Are you sure we haven’t met?”

“Quite sure,” said Moody.

“This is rather outlandish, Dumbledore,” said Crouch. “If we are unable to confirm this boy’s identity—”

“Mr. Crouch,” said Madam Maxime firmly. “I recommend you do not question zis entity.”

No one spoke for a long moment as they everyone stared nervously at one another, in various states of confusion.

“Been a while since anyone called me an entity,” Merlin eventually remarked.

“I have called Emrys here,” Dumbledore began, ignoring Merlin’s comment, “to request that he attempt to repair whatever malfunction has befallen the Goblet of Fire. If he is unable to do so, then we must simply move ahead with Mr. Crouch’s plan for a four-wizard Triwizard Tournament.”

Harry grinned when no one was able to find an objection to this.

“Very well,” said Dumbledore. “Then, if the Great Hall is once more empty, we can proceed to examine the Goblet…”

Quietly, the whole group of them followed Dumbledore into the other room, where the Goblet had gone dark atop its pedestal. Merlin stepped over the Age Line and peered at the cup intently for several seconds.

“What if he tampers with it?” growled Moody.

“With us standing right here watching?” said Lupin.

Merlin waved a hand over the cup, causing a series of overlapping and interwoven circles similar to the Age Line to expand out around it, each one of a different colour and size.

“Are those the enchantments?” Karkaroff muttered.

“They are,” said Merlin, though he shouldn’t have been able to hear. “There’s a weird extra one here, you see?” He pointed to a thin pink line nestled among the rest. “A Confundus Charm. I suspect it was placed here to make the Goblet forget that only three champions are allowed.”

“Can you see who put Harry’s name in?” Lupin asked.

Merlin shrugged. “I would assume it was the same person who used the Confundus Charm, but it’d be difficult to tell who that was without comparing it against many different wands until we stumbled across the right one. That is, unless you have a list of suspects…?”

“Not as such,” said Dumbledore before anyone could start throwing accusations.

“Hm.” Merlin reached into the empty Goblet and pulled out four slips of paper that should not have been there, reading them carefully—he let out a bark of laughter and asked, “Harry, how is ‘Hogwarts’ spelled?”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Humour me.”

Harry shrugged. “H-O-G-W-A-R-T-S.”

“This is clever,” said Merlin, eyeing the fourth piece of paper. He handed it to Dumbledore. “I believe the person who wrote this wanted the Goblet to interpret it as a single applicant from a fourth school, to guarantee his acceptance into the competition. You see, right there—it spells Howgarts.” He pronounced it phonetically, either to better illustrate the problem or because he enjoyed finding the stupidest possible ways to entertain himself.

“Ah.” Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles and looked closer. “It must have escaped my notice in the commotion over the fourth champion.”

“Well,” said Merlin happily. “There’s no Harry Potter of Howgarts here, so we would seem to be in the clear.”

“It is clearly meant to say ‘Hogwarts’,” Crouch argued. “We cannot allow a champion to forfeit simply because he made a spelling mistake.”

“I didn’t—” Harry began, but Dumbledore raised a hand to stop him.

“You said yourself,” Moody pointed out, “it’s a binding magical contract. Potter can’t back out without risking harm to himself.”

“But Harry doesn’t go to Howgarts,” said Merlin, persisting with the ridiculous pronunciation. “Obviously, this paper has nothing to do with him. And since Howgarts isn’t a real school, I don’t see why they should be allowed a champion in any case.”

“I concur,” said Karkaroff coldly, though he did not appear pleased to be agreeing with Merlin on general principle. “Durmstrang, Hogwarts and Beauxbatons are each allowed one champion.”

“Precisely,” said Madam Maxime.

“Well?” asked Dumbledore. “What do the rules have to say, Mr. Crouch?”

“Potter entered a binding magical contract—” Crouch droned.

“I didn’t put my name in the Goblet!” Harry protested.

“Yet another reason he should not compete,” said Merlin. “I don’t suppose anyone recognises the handwriting on that paper?”

They all passed it around, shaking their heads, and even Harry finally got to see it. “That’s not my handwriting,” he said.

“That is true,” Lupin agreed. “Harry’s handwriting is much more legible.”

 _“What?”_ Moody growled, which is when the rest of them noticed that Merlin was squinting at him again.

“Sorry,” said Merlin sheepishly, shaking his head. “It’s just, you really do look familiar… Can’t put my finger on it.”

“We don’t know each other,” said Moody shortly.

“Right, right…” Merlin agreed absently.

“In any case,” said Professor McGonagall, “we must find the culprit before they attempt to sabotage the Tournament again. The results of such tampering could be fatal.”

“Evidently,” said Madam Maxime, “someone wished to give ‘Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!”

“But an inexperienced, underage wizard?” said Lupin. “It seems more likely they wanted to get him killed.”

Harry tried not to take offence at that.

Karkaroff started to speak again, but was cut off by the sound of the doors to the Great Hall being kicked open—which was a feat, given how heavy they were. They all turned to see a blond man, in trainers and a lopsided chainmail shirt, carrying a very large sword, stride into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I did try to fit the epilogue into one chapter, but it turns out there were far too many things to cover. So, I guess there will be a bonus final chapter on Monday! I hope you all enjoy it. :)


	28. Epilogue (Part 2 of 2)

“Where is he!” demanded the bizarrely dressed man, loudly enough that it boomed across the large room.

Merlin, sighing, stepped out from the crowd of people. “I’m right here, everything’s fine. They just wanted to summon Emrys to look at something.”

Harry frowned when he referred to himself in the third person, but that question was quickly answered when Arthur replied, “Mer—Emrys! You trailed off and then disappeared mid-sentence, what was I supposed to think? Why don’t you use all that magic to let me know you’re not dead or something?” He let the sword fall to his side as he crossed the Great Hall.

“Sorry,” Merlin winced when Arthur finally reached them. “Slipped my mind. Besides, this whole thing was your idea.”

“Slipped your—” Arthur paused mid-eyeroll to stare at Moody, who glared back.

They continued staring for some time, eyes narrowing steadily.

“Why does that man have your eye?” said Arthur.

“Huh?” Merlin got closer to inspect Moody, which is when Harry noticed that his eyes and Moody’s ‘mad’ one were precisely the same shade of electric blue.

“That’s weird,” said Merlin casually.

“Yeah!” said Arthur, loudly. “You could call it that!”

“Relax,” said Merlin. “Obviously, I grew a replacement.”

“Rela—” Arthur spluttered. “Obv—replace—Are you telling me that you misplaced your _own_ _eye?_ What will it be next?”

Merlin scoffed. “You make it sound like I just put it down somewhere and forgot about it.”

Arthur made a sound like he had been filled with too much air and then poked with a needle.

Harry, meanwhile, was having the time of his life watching the confused, horrified and fascinated faces of the onlookers.

“Is that _not_ what happened?” Arthur finally said, and then: “When was this? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did,” said Merlin carelessly, but Arthur continued staring at him. “You know,” Merlin prompted. “That time I got a bayonet to the face.”

Actually, the noise Arthur was making sounded a bit like a tea kettle.

“And how, exactly,” he said through gritted teeth, “did this result in your eye ending up in someone else’s eye face?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t about to put it back in my head, was I? Even if I _could_ fix it, it’d been on the ground! That’s just asking for gangrene of the brain. Easier to just grow a new one.”

“Well, why did you leave it lying around then?” Arthur exploded.

“It’s a battlefield, Arthur! If there’s any acceptable place to leave a body part lying around, that would be it!”

Arthur apparently couldn’t argue with that. Instead, he and Merlin both turned to look appraisingly at Moody, who appeared dumbstruck.

“Do you…” Moody managed, “want it back?”

“Nah,” said Merlin. “Two’s plenty.” He pointed at his own face, as if it were somehow uncertain where the rest of his eyes currently were.

There was a long pause before Cedric Diggory (who, frankly, Harry had forgotten was here) piped up. “Erm, Professor Ambrose?”

“Nope!” Merlin blurted.

* * *

Whilst Merlin and Cedric whispered rapidly in the far corner of the room (the other champions and their headmasters straining to eavesdrop), Professor Dumbledore negotiated with Mr. Crouch, trying to convince the astonishingly obstinate man to reconsider the ludicrous idea of forcing Harry to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. Eventually, he was so outnumbered that he had no choice but to agree to “review the precedents” before making an official determination.

Merlin and Dumbledore both seemed satisfied, as the latter asked Moody to see their guests and the champions from the Great Hall since it was growing so late. No doubt, the other students would all be sitting awake, waiting to hear news of the Tournament. Harry hoped the Gryffindors wouldn’t be too disappointed.

Merlin did not seem at all concerned that any of the eight people leaving the room might be inclined to reveal to the world at large than an ancient Druidic deity was, in fact, alive and well, but it was to Arthur that Harry looked for reassurance, and his obvious lack of worry was enough to make Harry certain that the two of them had some sort of backup plan.

“So,” said Harry when the doors closed behind the others. “How’s the treasure hunt going?”

“There’s one here we need to pick up before we leave, actually,” said Arthur matter-of-factly, still holding his sword in one hand. “Merlin thinks there are two more, but he can’t figure out where.”

“Here,” said Merlin, frowning. “I swear there’s another one around here somewhere.”

“Whatever you say, Merlin,” said Arthur.

“I’m going to find it.”

“Sure. Could we get back to the topic of the eye now? That man just walked out of the room with your bloody eye in his head.”

Merlin rolled his two remaining eyes. “Honestly, Arthur. As long as no one starts trying to harvest my other eyes, I see no reason to worry about it.”

“Hang on,” Harry blurted. “Does this mean you can see through walls too?”

“Oh, the eye has special powers?” said Merlin, glancing back toward the door Moody had left through. Harry held up four fingers behind his back in preparation for his next question. “Cool. But no,” he continued, “I can’t see through things—four—but sometimes I can sort of tell what’s on the other side.”

“Er,” said Arthur. “Four?”

“Harry was about to ask how many fingers he was holding up,” Merlin explained.

“You can see the future?” McGonagall asked.

“Yeah, sometimes,” said Merlin, “but I didn’t need to, I saw him do it just now. Behind his back.”

“You _just_ said you couldn’t see through things!” said Arthur.

“I didn’t see it,” Merlin explained, as if Arthur was just being slow. “I… noticed it.”

“Never mind,” Arthur groaned. “This is a stupid conversation. Can we get back to the game now?”

 _Hm_ , thought Harry, sensing an opportunity for a bet with himself. _Sport, arcade or board game?_ His money was on the former.

“You and your thimble can both go to hell,” said Merlin calmly.

 _Ah_ , Harry thought. _Monopoly._

“More importantly,” said Lupin, “what about the Tournament? Is Harry going to have to compete?”

Merlin waved a hand. “Oh, no, don’t worry. I’ll drop in on Crouch later, see what he’s up to. After all, he’s the only one who actually _wants_ Harry in the Tournament. I’m beginning to think he may be under some sort of spell.”

“Er,” said Lupin. “That sounds dangerous.”

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows. “And what of the large group of people who just left this room knowing that there is a thousand-year-old wizard in our midst?”

Merlin beamed. “Oh, you’ll like this.”

“Good lord,” Arthur muttered.

“I’ve invented a new curse!” said Merlin, happily ignoring him. “I call it ‘the Cassandra Curse’.”

Lupin frowned. “How is that…?”

“They can tell whoever they want,” he explained cheerfully, “but no one will ever believe them.”

“Are you sure that will work?” said Arthur sceptically.

“I may not always be the sharpest bulb in the drawer,” Merlin allowed, “but I know what I’m doing when it comes to magic, Arthur.”

“Wait—”

“And besides,” he continued, “we did some much more difficult blood magic just a few months ago, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

Arthur crossed his arms. “I’ve been a little busy traipsing about the country looking for cursed trinkets lately, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Ignoring him, Merlin turned to Lupin. “I do hope the boys didn’t cause you too much trouble, by the way.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “Sirius and I were both glad to have something to do in return for your letting us stay there.”

“Well,” Harry piped up. “Dudley did cause a _bit_ of trouble.”

“Do I need to talk some sense into that little brat again?” Arthur growled.

“Not necessary,” said Lupin quickly. “He became somewhat agreeable when his parents weren’t around. Eventually.”

“Thought he would,” said Merlin smugly. “Had to do the same thing with Arthur, you know.”

“Shut up.”

“Except with Dudley,” Merlin mused, “I only worry about him growing jealous like Petunia did of Lily. You didn’t do _too_ much magic, did you?”

“ _We_ didn’t,” said Lupin. “Your house did, though.”

“Dudley’s fine,” said Harry. “Put him in front of a telly and he’s happy.”

Arthur frowned. “A boy really ought to be outside more than that. A bit of hard work would do him some good.”

Merlin scoffed. “Says the man who would spend all day watching cartoons if he could.”

“Please tell me he’s seen _The Sword in the Stone_ ,” said Harry.

“No!” said Merlin quickly. “And he never will.”

Arthur perked up. “What’s this?”

“That one’s not bad, actually,” Lupin said with a laugh.

“It is so!” replied an indignant Merlin. “I mean, the characters, and the circumstances, and our ages... and the bloody beard again!”

“Are you or are you not regularly harassed by your own belongings?”

Merlin glared.

“I need to see this,” said Arthur.

“You’d hate it,” said Merlin.

“You would,” Harry agreed.

Arthur frowned. “And by the way, I still don’t understand—”

Merlin swiftly cut him off. “I’m not explaining the bond of blood charm to you again. All you need to know is that Harry lives. With. The Dursleys,” he said emphatically. “He was merely in Ealdor for an ‘extended visit’.”

“Whatever.” Arthur threw up his hands.

“I don’t see how Dudley being there strengthens the spell,” said Harry. “Or how you managed to convince Aunt Petunia to let him visit in the first place.”

“He’s a blood relative living with you,” Merlin shrugged. “Figured it couldn’t hurt.”

He conspicuously did not answer the second question. Harry suspected Merlin felt bad for Dudley, but couldn’t imagine why.

“Have you any notion of who might have put Potter’s name in the Goblet of Fire?” asked Professor McGonagall, who was inspecting the goblet as she spoke.

“Not really,” said Merlin. “It must have been an adult, but I can’t say exactly why anyone would go to the trouble. That Mr. Crouch was oddly insistent on Harry’s participation, though.”

She looked up, eyes hardening. “You don’t think…”

“I don’t know,” Merlin mused. “I didn’t get evil vibes from him. I really think something’s wrong with him, I’m going to look into it.”

“I think it’s the one-eyed bloke,” Arthur contributed. Everyone turned to look at him; he shrugged. “I don’t like him.”

“Dumbledore said he’s trustworthy,” said Merlin doubtfully.

“Said the same thing about the bat man who looked like Agravaine.”

“Don’t call him Batman.”

“Whatever. I’m just saying, anyone who steals someone else’s eye has got something wrong with them.”

“He didn’t _steal_ it.”

“Well, he didn’t ask for it.”

“That’s beside the point,” said Merlin, rolling his eyes. “He doesn’t look like any of your relatives, so I don’t see what the problem is.”

“He looks a little like my great-uncle Victor.”

Merlin squinted. “You just made him up.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you—oh, wait, he’s coming back.”

They both froze very suspiciously at Moody pushed the door open, glanced at them briefly, and returned to Dumbledore’s side.

“I fear Crouch won’t budge,” he growled.

“Aha!” Merlin shouted.

They all turned to him, but that was apparently all he had to say.

“Did you sense evil again?” Arthur sighed.

“Yeah,” said Merlin happily. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“I never like it.”

“You’re really not going to like _this_.”

“For—” Arthur pointed his sword at him for emphasis. “Tell me.”

“I sense an extra Dark Mark. I’ve found another impostor.”

For a good five seconds, no one moved an inch.

Then Moody pulled out his wand, followed quickly by Professor Dumbledore, but their standoff was interrupted by Arthur tossing his sword at Merlin—who somehow caught it despite his fumbling—and body-slamming Moody, tackling him to the ground as Merlin yelled to watch out for the wand, but as it happened, the wand snapped under their combined weight and Moody just roared and clawed furiously at his attacker until Arthur managed to subdue him by pressing his face into the stone floor, knee on the small of his back. He twisted around to look at Merlin.

“Little help here?”

“Right, sorry.”

With a wave of his hand, Merlin restrained Moody with thin golden strands that rose from the floor and wrapped around him on all sides.

“For the record,” said Arthur, rising to his feet, “when I said I was okay with your magic—” He dusted himself off disdainfully. “This was not what I had in mind.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t sign up to follow around an idiot with a death wish for all eternity, but here we are.”

“More like drag around,” Arthur muttered.

Merlin scoffed and waved the sword in his general direction. “Don’t even start, I know you love traipsing about the countryside looking for scary magical artefacts—and wrestling people to the ground too, by the way. I should know.”

“If you weren’t so scrawny—”

“There was Polyjuice Potion in his flask,” said Dumbledore.

They turned to see him holding up the flask in question as the false Moody squirmed and snarled at his feet.

“Ah,” said Merlin.

* * *

As usual, Merlin and Arthur loitered around the Hogwarts grounds for longer than necessary, though strangely enough, no one seemed to notice they were there—or at least, they didn’t seem to think it noteworthy.

“Glamour,” said Merlin and Hermione simultaneously when Harry had pointed it out.

Ron and Arthur both rolled their eyes.

After uncovering the false Moody’s deception, it had not taken them long to discover that Mr. Crouch’s Death Eater son had broken out of Azkaban, put Professor Moody and his father under the Imperius Curse, and disguised himself as Moody in order to lead Harry to Voldemort through one of the Triwizard Tournament tasks.

Needless to say, Harry was excused from competing, Moody and Crouch were both in the hospital wing, and the younger Crouch was, once again, on his way to Azkaban. For some reason, the games were scheduled to continue as planned, but Harry was just glad to be uninvolved for once, so he wasn’t asking questions.

Today, Merlin and Arthur were taking a break from their Horcrux hunt (or “quest,” as Merlin insisted on calling it) to swim with mermaids in the Black Lake. Harry, Ron and Hermione, lounging on the shore, could hear their occasional shouts any time they broke the surface to argue about something or other.

Despite the rather gruesome scarring scattered across both of their chests, Hermione and a few of the other students kept glancing surreptitiously at them in a way Harry had grown used to with Viktor Krum around; but everyone outside of the trio wandered away eventually, seeming to forget why they had come in the first place. One side effect of this was a continual rotation of Durmstrang students leaning over the edge of their ship to gawp in awe at the lunatics taking a swim in a frigid lake in November. Harry, meanwhile, relayed the events of last night.

“Huh,” said Ron when Harry had finished. “Guess they’re just going to continue turning up to save the day in the most ridiculous way possible, then.”

Harry hummed. “Six months,” he said. “They’ll be back before then.”

Ron started to speak, but Hermione waved a hand lazily at him. “That’s a fool’s bet,” she said. “Don’t take it.”

Ron shrugged, unable to argue with that.

Meanwhile, the warlock splashed a truly incredible amount of water directly in Arthur’s face before fleeing the scene—though he didn't swim away fast enough to escape Arthur. Indeed, Harry reflected, judging by Arthur’s predicament, it seemed that once Merlin grew fond of a person, it became quite impossible to get rid of him. Harry grinned and leaned back carelessly against his tree. He thought he could live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the final chapter! There were a lot of loose ends to tie up, but hopefully this makes for a satisfying conclusion. I'm grateful for all of your comments over the course of this story; they really brighten my day, and often give me a lot to think about. I may post more stories in the future, as I've already started drafting a few of them, but given how busy I am at the moment, that may be some time from now. In any case, thank you all for your support, and of course, for reading. Stay safe, everyone, and have a great week--and hopefully, many more to come.


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